


Healthy Competition

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4630710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sherlock so focused on figuring out just how Moriarty could come back from the dead the other types of cases he would solve are slipping by the wayside. Molly and Mary decide to form their own partnership and solve these cases, and when they begin to do a better job than Sherlock and John ever did only then does it catch Sherlock's attention and bring him out of his Moriarty-focused worldview, inciting some healthy competition between the two duos. But when the relationship between Sherlock and Molly begins to change from friendly rivals to something more, the specter of Moriarty's presence could bring it all crashing down around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_b_rackham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/gifts), [renniejoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renniejoy/gifts), [WinterRose16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterRose16/gifts), [thiscanbegin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiscanbegin/gifts), [InMollysWildestDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMollysWildestDreams/gifts).



> So this was my non WIP entry for the 2015 Het Big Bang, based on a Tumblr prompt started by **doomslock** with suggestions by **queeentauriel** and **john-watson-is-sherlocked** that was screenshot and but on a Facebook group I was on (I've included it [here](http://s1.postimg.org/4j28kz2bj/Molly_Mary_Detective_Duo_Prompt.jpg%22%22)). This was hard to write as I got stumped for cases early on so many thanks to the people I gifted the fic to for giving me the cases used in the story (especially **red_b_rackham** for offering a huge list) and to my beta **renniejoy** for offering encouragement and making this fic a million times better than I had ever hoped it would be.

It was all so different now, all of it. Every last bit. There were secrets and unspoken questions and fake smiles and none of that had been there before Christmas Day, before Sherlock and John went off on their idiotic plan to trap Charles Augustus Magnussen. Molly knew the details of what happened that evening, and possibly why they were there, maybe; John had told her pieces and Mary had filled in gaps. Sherlock had said one or two things the few times she'd seen him before he was supposed to be sent away, but nothing important. Nothing to make her understand. They all knew, they all knew the why of it all and she knew so very little and they weren't sharing. For someone who counted she felt as though she didn't count at all.

And then suddenly Moriarty was back, his “Miss me?” message plastered on every screen in the United Kingdom, an endless loop of his face, his grin, his lilting voice. She'd been shocked when she'd seen it, so shocked she couldn't register at first that she was seeing the man who she'd had on her autopsy table with a bullet hole in his brainpan speaking, looking at _her_ and asking “Miss me?” And then when she realized what she was seeing she screamed. The young man who had been delivering a body to her panicked, not knowing what to do when she began pacing and talking to herself, and finally he gave up, leaving her alone in her fear until she saw the familiar sight of Sherlock Holmes come through her office door. He didn't have to say a word, but she knew then that it was going to be all right because he was on the case.

It seemed to settle down to...something. The days when Sherlock took private cases had seemed to fall by the wayside, or at least the numbers seemed minute now. He focused so intently on Moriarty it seemed that he eat, lived and breathed the man. Molly wasn't sure that was healthy, and she knew John and Mary agreed, so they would bring the easy cases, the unimportant ones, to his attention in an effort to get him to focus on something else, but it seemed no use. For the most part he waved them off and went back to focusing on the problem that was Moriarty. Today marked Molly's fifth attempt to distract him so far this month, and it was only the ninth day. After getting the “it's not related to Moriarty so it's not important” brush-off from Sherlock she sighed and left him alone in Baker Street to stew. She had a coffee date of sorts with Mary anyway, and she really didn't want to be late. She went out and hailed a cab, giving the driver the address to a cafe at Primrose Hill before settling into her seat.

She and Mary were friends, she supposed. More friendly than mere acquaintances, at the very least, but not really best mates. They were close but not “share your secrets” close. But that seemed to be changing. Mary had mentioned tension between her and her friend Janine after the fiasco of Janine and Sherlock's relationship, and Molly supposed she was a good substitute. She could do with some friends herself, considering most of her friends took Tom's side when she ended their engagement, and really, Mary was a lovely woman, even if Molly could tell she was hiding a wealth of secrets. But she assumed John knew most of them, and Sherlock probably knew all of them, and if they still chose to associate with her then that was good enough for her.

Molly watched London go by as the cab glided through traffic, finally pulling up outside The Little One Coffee Shop. She knew Mary would not be drinking the coffee the cafe served, considering she was eight months pregnant and the doctor had told her to avoid all stimulants whenever possible, but it was technically a coffee date nonetheless. Molly paid the driver and got out, smoothing down the front of her dress before heading to the door. Sherlock had given her a momentarily curious look when he saw she had a dress on, and she'd waited for him to ask if she had a date, but he'd said nothing. She had to admit that had disappointed her slightly. Apparently even formerly significant details about her had slipped beyond his notice because she was not Moriarty. Maybe it was worse than she had thought.

She opened the door and stepped inside, spotting Mary immediately. She had a paper cup in front of her and a scone sitting on a plate. Mary had joked that the scones were causing her to gain a devilish amount of weight and it was going to take forever for it to all come off and John wasn't going to love her when she was a lump of a woman, but Molly knew he'd love her just fine and she told Mary that every time she fretted. Mary caught sight of her and waved, giving her a wide smile, and Molly made her way to the table and sat across from her. It was then she noticed the other paper cup in front of her. “Mocha latte with two shots of hazelnut syrup?” Molly asked her.

Mary nodded. “And whipped cream on top. You order the same thing every time we have a coffee date so it isn't hard to have it ready. And it should be the perfect temperature, too. Not too hot, but not too cold, either.” 

Molly picked it up and took a sip. Oh, yes, it was absolutely perfect. She sank a bit more into her seat as Mary tore off a bit of the scone and popped it into her mouth. “He didn't take the case,” she said.

“I didn't think he would,” Mary said with a sigh. “He's so focused on catching that bastard. Do we even know if he's really alive?”

“I personally don't think he is, unless I autopsied a twin or a clone or something, or Richard Brook actually _was_ his own person and not just Moriarty acting,” Molly said. “But Sherlock insists that Moriarty is very much alive even though we both saw his body.”

“Well, I'm leaning towards agreeing with you the longer this goes on. I thought it was all just a clever ploy to get Sherlock out of a sticky situation at first, and then I thought that _maybe_ there was a chance he'd actually cheated death, and now I think it's something else.”

“Oh?” Molly asked. “What do you think is going on?”

“I think someone else is pulling strings. I think this ties in with...everything that happened,” she said.

Molly nodded. Perhaps one day she'd learn the truth about what happened with Magnussen, but she was still on the outside and she doubted that would change with this particular conversation. She had another sip of her coffee. “I feel bad for these people with cases that Sherlock is ignoring,” she said, changing the subject. “I mean, they need help, and they were hoping to get it from him, and he's blowing them off.”

Mary popped some more scone in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Just because Sherlock doesn't want to take the case doesn't mean they need to be ignored,” she said after she swallowed. “We could solve them. Between us we're just as smart and capable as Sherlock and John. We could handle the cases until Sherlock decides to pay attention to more than that bloody bastard again.”

Molly considered it. Truthfully, she'd always considered what Sherlock and John did to be quite exciting. She'd wanted to do it herself but never had the right motivation or a partner willing to do it with her. “But what about when you have the baby?” she asked.

“We'll work around it,” Mary said. “John's going to spend time with her, too, and since he's obviously not off gallivanting with Sherlock on cases this leaves him time to watch her while I gallivant off on cases with you.”

Molly smiled at that. Truth be told, this did sound rather exciting, and she needed exciting. She'd been in a funk since her engagement ended and the drama around Sherlock's shooting and everything that had followed had sprung up. She needed something to shake up her life, give it a new meaning, and solving cases for people who needed help would be a perfect thing to do. “All right,” she said with a nod. “Let's become consulting detectives.”

Mary reached over, offering Molly her hand, and they shook on it, sealing the pact. When they were done Mary picked up her drink and then took a sip. “All right, love. What was this case you were going to bring to Sherlock's attention that he decided to ignore?” she asked when she was done.

Molly reached over for her handbag and reached inside for the notebook. She'd always been very good at taking notes, ever since she was a young girl in school. When her friend Antoine had come to her with his problem in the hopes that she'd mention it to Sherlock, she got as much information from him as she could, and she relayed it all to Mary: his flat had been broken into three weeks ago and nothing had been taken as far as he could tell, but it looked as though things had been gone though and moved about a few times since, and he had the sense someone was following him. There were at least two someones that he was aware of. One was a tall African man in his mid-thirties who wore circular framed sunglasses with mirrored frames and the other was a young blonde woman who would loiter outside the hospital at odd times, usually when he went out for his smoke break, but she wasn't in scrubs and didn't appear to have an ID badge. Molly thought she had glimpsed the woman once or twice herself, she told Mary, and Mary grilled her for as many extra details as she could give.

“That was all I got out of Antoine,” Molly said, closing her notebook and looking at Mary. “He's off today, so I suppose we could pay him a visit. He'll be disappointed Sherlock didn't take the case, but he knows I've helped him before, so maybe he'll be all right with us taking the case.”

“I hope so, because I'd like to have a look around his flat,” Mary said, getting up. It took her a minute, since she was at the awkward stage of her pregnancy. “I think they didn't take anything, but they might have added a few things to it.”

“Oh,” Molly said, her eyes going wide. She stood up as well and put her handbag on her shoulder before picking up her coffee. Mary looked at the half-eaten scone and the drink, and then sighed and left the scone on the plate and picked up the drink. “Deciding against the scone?”

“I'm going to gain so much weight if I eat all of every pastry I start,” she said wryly. “I'd rather have the coffee instead.”

“Mary!” Molly said, her voice aghast.

“It's decaf, even if decaf is a vile imitation of coffee,” Mary said with a laugh. “And the flavored syrup is sugar free as well. My doctor can't complain _too_ much. Besides, it's not as large as yours.” She took a sip. “Come on. The sooner I get a look around your friend's flat, the sooner we can see about putting an end to his problem.”

Molly nodded and the two of them left the cafe. Mary went out and hailed them a cab, and it stopped immediately. It must be the magic of pregnancy, Molly mused, because it could sometimes take her as many as five tries to get a cab to stop for her. They got inside and Molly gave the driver the address to Antoine's flat, which was a block away from St. Bart's. She began to wonder just how Mary would know what to look for or how to begin to take care of Antoine's problem if his flat had been bugged, but she just assumed this was among the secrets she wasn't privy to yet. Maybe today would entitle her to learn at least a few of them, she thought to herself.

It seemed to take no time at all to get there, and when they got there Mary leaned forward and paid the driver, asking for a receipt. Molly looked over at her curiously. “We'll have your friend reimburse us in his fees,” she said. When they had that settled they got out and Molly led the way to his apartment complex and up to his apartment. When they got there she went to the door and knocked.

It opened a moment later, and Antoine looked at her, his brows slightly furrowed. “Molly?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Sherlock declined to take your case, but my associate and I thought we could help,” Molly said. “This is Mary Watson.”

He looked Mary up and down, then looked back at Molly with a raised eyebrow. “This isn't the type of thing you can prank a man about, Molly.”

“No prank,” Mary said, her voice low. “I suspect the reason nothing was taken when your home was broken into was because something, or rather some _things_ , were added. Would there be any reason you would need to be under any type of surveillance?”

“Not that I can think of,” he said.

“Then let us look around,” Mary said. “Couldn’t hurt, at the very least.”

Antoine thought for a moment, then moved aside. Mary stepped in but Molly stayed at the entryway as Mary looked around, moving a few things every once in a while. “Antoine, you have to be honest with me. Would there be any reason anyone would want to track your movements and conversations?”

“ _No_ ,” he said emphatically. “I don't get involved in the funny stuff.”

“What funny stuff?” Molly asked.

Antoine looked down. “My old mates. They're into...things. And they started coming round here, trying to renew acquaintances again. I wasn't interested, but then there was the break-in and they kept pushing...”

Mary and Molly looked at each other as Mary came back to them. Mary nodded towards the room, indicating it had indeed been bugged. “Do you suppose...?” Molly asked.

“He has his fingers in quite a few pies,” Mary said. “Though I'm not exactly one of his favorite people. He might be more inclined to listen to you.”

“Why me?” Molly asked.

“You did keep his brother's secret for two years,” Mary said. “If nothing else you can say he owes you a favor for that.”

“Oh, he owes me more than one,” Molly said, pulling her handbag off her shoulder and opening it to fish out her mobile.

“Then make sure you tell him that,” Mary said.

Antoine had been looking from one to the other as the two women talked, his confusion growing more and more. “What are you two talking about?” he asked.

“You're under some sort of government surveillance,” Mary said. “We're going to ask a friend for details and see if we can get it to stop.”

“He's not a friend,” Molly said as she got out her mobile. “More like an acquaintance.” She paused. “If even that, to be honest.”

“Who is he?” Antoine asked.

Mary waved her hand. “It's not important,” she said as Molly stepped further down the hall.

Molly was just pulling up Mycroft's contact when her mobile began to ring. She could see it was Mycroft's unlisted phone number, the one he had used when he needed to talk to her while Sherlock was gone. She answered it and before she could say hello he was speaking. “Is there a reason you and Mrs. Watson are having a conversation with Antoine Hamilton?”

“He wanted me to ask for Sherlock's help with a situation. Sherlock declined, so Mary and I decided to take the case on our own and we realized he's under surveillance.”

There was a pause. “And you alerted him to that fact, I suppose?”

“He already knew, Mycroft,” she said. “Whoever you have following him and loitering around the hospital did a shite job, frankly. Same with whoever has been inside his flat. That's what he wanted Sherlock to look into.”

Mycroft sighed. “I should have known better than to have green operatives involved in this matter. But as we have gotten no useful information from Mr. Hamilton in the last three weeks I sincerely doubt that will change. You may inform him that the surveillance will cease immediately.” He paused for a moment. “I may pay him a personal visit, however. And do me a favor, Molly. _Don't_ warn him about that. I will do it through official channels as opposed to taking him off the street as I do with everyone else, if that will ease your mind.”

“That would,” she said, relaxing as she smiled slightly. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. “Are you seriously considering doing what my brother does, you and Mrs. Watson?”

“Yes, I am,” Molly said. “I mean, Sherlock's not doing it, and people need help.”

“If you have need of my assistance, then I am at your disposal,” he said. “Consider it my repayment of the favor I seem to owe you. Or one of them, at any rate.”

“Was there audio surveillance at his door?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “I will give you three other favors you can call in aside from the offer of help. Choose them wisely.”

“Thank you again, Mycroft,” She said with a nod. “I appreciate it.” She did not get a verbal response, instead hearing the click of the phone on his end. It was a familiar ending to their conversations; very rarely had she ended a call before he did. She was quite pleased that this time he had let her get the last word, though. She slipped her mobile back into her handbag and then went back to Mary and Antoine. “The surveillance is going to cease immediately. I wouldn't be surprised if the next time you leave your flat they go in to sweep out all the bugs they put in place. But they'll be gone very soon, and people will stop following you.”

“Really?” Antoine asked, surprised.

Molly nodded. “My friend promised, and he's a man of his word.”

“Oh, that's great,” he said, a relieved smile on his face. “Really, you don't know how much the peace of mind means to me.”

“I think it means quite a bit,” she said, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Just promise me you won't let those old mates of yours drag you into trouble. And if anyone asks you any questions about things, you tell them the entire truth, all right?”

He nodded. “Absolutely,” he said before kissing her cheek back. “ Thank you so much, Molly. Really.” And then his eyes went wide. “What can I do about a fee?”

Molly and Mary looked at each other. “Cab fare and fifty pounds?” Mary suggested.

“Sounds fair,” Molly said with a nod.

“I can get that to you now,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his billfold. He pulled out some money and then handed it to Mary. “Does that cover the cab fare?”

“That more than covers it,” Mary said with a smile. “Glad your problem's been taken care of. Best of luck to you.”

Antoine nodded. “Thanks, to both of you. See you at Bart's tomorrow, Molly?”

“Definitely,” she said with a smile. She gave him a wave and then she and Mary left, heading back outside. After a moment she turned and saw Mary giving her an interesting smile, the type that said she knew Molly was keeping a secret. “What?”

“The whole bit about if someone asks questions to tell them the truth. Mycroft's going to have a chat with your friend, isn't he?” Mary asked.

Molly nodded. “That was the only way I could warn him without actually warning him. It will be an official thing, though, not a kidnapping off the street.”

“Oh, good,” Mary said. “That would have been bad for our fledgling business.” She had a sip of her coffee. “I think what we need to do now is find someplace to sit and plot things out. Come up with fees to charge, what types of cases we will and won't take, a name for ourselves, how we want to advertise...all the little details we need to do this right.”

“And maybe have a bite to eat while we do it?” Molly suggested.

“Or several,” Mary said. “I'm regretting not finishing off that scone. And I think I know just the spot, if you trust my judgment.”

Molly nodded. She may not be privy to the secrets Mary kept hidden, but she trusted her, and even if she never found those secrets out that wouldn't change. “I trust you,” she said with a smile.

“Brilliant!” Mary said, grinning back before hailing a cab. Molly watched, suddenly quite hopeful that maybe this new direction in her life would work out well after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary called Molly a few days later, saying she had another case for them, straight from John’s blog. They met up at Bourne & Hollingsworth Buildings for a late brunch, and Mary began to lay out the details of the case. There was a woman who was convinced that her husband was cheating on her, and that he was keeping other large secrets as well. Molly knew normally these types of cases were ones Sherlock generally ignored, seeing them as “petty domestic squabbles,” but Mary said there might be a connection to the unsolved prison escape of Francisco Lovullo. 

“How do you figure that?” Molly asked.

“Well,” Mary said. “I did some digging and the woman’s husband, Jacob Enright, is rumored to be a small time crime boss. He answers to a few people higher up on the food chain but he tends to run things in Kingston upon Thames. Now, Lovullo did a small job pawning jewelry from a jewelry store robbery in Coombe, but he was picked up and put in prison for it. Lovullo is a known ‘associate’ of Tyra Baxter’s…who just so happens to be Jacob Enright’s purported mistress.”

Molly frowned. “Are you implying Lovullo is Tyra Baxter’s lover too?” she asked.

“The woman does get around,” Mary said. 

“But why would Enright be behind getting him out of prison?” Molly said thoughtfully.

“I’m not sure. But Enright’s wife said the day after Lovullo was broken out of prison a man came to pay her husband a visit. He didn’t say much, but she did catch that the package had been extracted and was on its way out of town. And Lovullo hasn’t been seen since, much to Miss Baxter’s dismay.”

Molly thought for a moment. “So we think Enright is cheating on his wife with Tyra Baxter—”

“Who inherited control of the criminal enterprises in Richmond upon Thames from her father,” Mary interjected.

“Who then asked him to break her _other_ lover out of prison, only said other lover was sent away?” Molly finished. Mary nodded. “I suppose we should have a chat with Tyra Baxter, then. See what she has to say about it.

“Well, I have the perfect way for you to do that,” Mary said with a smile. “She’s an opera buff. She’ll be going to a special performance put on by the English National Opera at the Savoy Hotel tonight. We just need to get you all dolled up and fortunately, you know just the man to cover that.”

Molly looked at him. “This is going to be one of the three favors Mycroft owes me?” she asked.

“Unfortunately. You need something that will fit in with the posh crowd,” she said. “Sophisticated and elegant and expensive.”

“I suppose it was too good to hope I could hold onto them,” she said with a sigh as she pulled out her mobile. She pulled up Mycroft’s number and then dialed. It rang and rang but he didn’t answer. “No answer.”

“Curious,” Mary said with a frown. “I suppose we’ll have to make do, then.”

“I have a charge card I have to use in emergencies,” Molly said slowly. “We could use that.”

“Then we’ll pick something elegant yet inexpensive,” Mary said with a nod. “Let’s finish our meal and then get going. I’d like to get it all done so we can get your hair styled as well.”

Molly nodded and went back to her food, though she didn’t have much of an appetite. She was going to be dealing with a crime boss this evening. She didn’t have the confidence that Mary did or the steel backbone that Sherlock did to pull this off! It was going to be a nightmare. When they were done with the meal they went to several high end stores but they couldn’t find anything that worked well enough in either of their opinions. After the fourth store they left and saw a black sedan waiting outside. The window rolled down a moment later and a hand appeared in the window to call them forward. “Yes?” Molly asked as she moved closer and saw Mycroft’s assistant Anthea there.

“Not even your emergency charge card can afford an appropriate dress,” Anthea said, handing Molly a white box tied with a red ribbon. “He says this is not one of the favors. Rather it’s a gift.”

“Tell him I said thank you,” Molly said, slightly confused as she took the box. After a moment Anthea handed her a shoe box as well, and then a plastic bag which had something in it. She balanced all of it and then Anthea rolled the window up and the sedan pulled away.

“If he fancies you I would be very worried,” Mary said.

“I don’t think he does,” Molly said. She gestured to a bench. “We might as well see what the gift is.” They moved over to the bench and sat down. Molly set the show box and the bag between her and Mary and then undid the ribbon on the box. When it was undone she opened up the box and gasped. Inside was a cream colored strapless dress with what looked like a black appliqué on the waist in the pattern of leaves. It appeared to be made out of many layers of a gauzy material. “Oh, this is lovely.”

“It is,” Mary said, reaching over to touch it. She then reached over for the bag. “There’s a matching clutch in here and jewelry.” She pulled out two jewelry boxes, one large enough to contain a necklace and earring set and the other long and thin, as though it held a bracelet. She opened the first and saw a necklace made out of jet, shaped in leaves. It would lay flat on her chest. The earrings matched. Then she uncovered the bracelet and they saw they were smooth square pieces of jet. “These are lovely.”

“I doubt I get to keep them,” she said, looking in the bag for a note of some sort. She found one after a moment, and when she opened the folded piece of paper she recognized Mycroft’s hand. “Get whatever information you can to find Francisco Lovullo’s whereabouts. He was working for the government but now we cannot find him. This will be your payment from Her Majesty for services rendered,” she read aloud.

“I wonder what my payment will be,” Mary mused with a smile. 

“I don’t know,” she said. She folded the note again and tapped it on the edge of the box. “Do you really think I can do this?”

“I have all the confidence in the world in you, Molly,” Mary said with a grin. Then she gestured to the note. “And Mycroft does too. You’ll be fine.”

“All right,” Molly said.

“Now then. Let’s get you to a salon and get your hair done. You need to blend in, and that means looking as elegant as possible,” she said. Molly nodded and they repackaged everything and then went to the nearest salon. Molly has her hair put into a classic chignon, and when she was done she went home and tried to relax. As the time to the play got closer she got more nervous, but finally it was time to swallow it down and get ready. She did her make-up and then got into the dress and heels before putting the jewelry on. When she left her flat she found that there was a car waiting for her.

She slipped into the car and found she wasn’t alone. Mycroft was there as well. He looked her up and down. “You’ll do very well,” he said.

“Are you my date?” she asked nervously.

He shook his head. “I just wanted to go over important details. Lovullo has information we need and I need to find out where he’s been stashed. We can’t get anyone close to Miss Baxter so you’re our only shot.”

“Does Sherlock do things like this for you often?” she asked.

“On occasion. Usually I have to twist his arm,” Mycroft said. “Miss Baxter is only on her own when she goes to the powder room. Otherwise she has two hulking bodyguards who watch her every move. Your seat is two chairs next to hers.”

“I thought I was in the back,” she said, looking at the ticket he handed her.

“We upgraded your ticket,” he said. “You’re at one of the front tables now. Now, this is the most important part. If she tells you anything at all about where Lovullo is, assure her that he will be treated fairly. We _want_ him back in England where we can keep an eye on him. And if she’s willing to tell you anything about her lover in the process, let her talk. I’d rather have Enright out of London than Lovullo. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.” He handed her a small electronic device. “No one will be able to scan for it. Pin it to the inside of your dress’s bustier. It will pick up anything Miss Baxter has to say.”

Molly nodded, doing as she was told. “Anything else?” she asked.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. “Be careful. I do believe my brother would try and murder me if anything happened to you.”

“He doesn’t care that much,” Molly said, blushing.

“You’d be surprised,” Mycroft said.

They slipped into silence for the rest of the ride and then she arrived at the hotel. She got out and posed for photographs before going into the hotel and finding the table she was to be seated at. She hadn’t realized it was a fundraising dinner, and she idly wondered how Mary had gotten the initial ticket, how much it had cost her. Perhaps she had gotten it from the wife who they were originally taking the case for. She finally found her seat and realized there was one person in between her and one of Tyra Baxter’s bodyguards, and the woman looked nervous. This did not bode well. But the man turned to Molly, looked her up and down, and then gave her a grin. She relaxed. Tyra caught the grin and swatted at him. She was a lovely African woman, with long dark hair that had been straightened and swept over one shoulder for the night. She had on an emerald green one shouldered dress. “No flirting, Lucius,” she said with a smile.

“Can’t I just appreciate an attractive woman?” he asked.

“It’s all right,” Molly said with a smile. “It’s rather nice to be flirted with. I don’t get it very often.”

“I don’t see why not,” Tyra said. “You look quite lovely.”

“Probably because I’m usually in button down shirts and jumpers and trousers around dead bodies,” she said. “I’m a pathologist.”

Tyra looked impressed at that. “A woman in a STEM field? You have my utmost respect,” she said. “I wanted to go into a similar field but it didn’t quite work out.”

“Oh, really?” Molly asked. “Which one?”

“Forensic anthropology,” she said. 

“Oh, that is a fascinating field of study,” Molly said with a wide smile. “I’ve worked with one or two of them over the course of my career.”

“Really?” Tyra asked. “I’d like to hear about it.”

Molly nodded and then launched into one of her stories, nothing absently that the occupant of the seat to her side looked even more uncomfortable. But Tyra gave them a stern glare and after a moment they got up and left. Then Tyra began asking questions and even when the performances started the two of them continued to talk, though in hushed tones. Finally there was an intermission and the two women stood up. “I think I need to go to the powder room,” Molly said.

“That sounds like a very good idea,” Tyra said. She looked at her bodyguards. “We’ll be fine, boys.” Then she nodded towards the loo. “They’re dears, but they aren’t my men and I hate having them dog every step. The only privacy I get is when I go to the loo.”

“How awful,” Molly said.

“Well, it’s the price I pay for the man I chose, I suppose,” she said. “I just wish I could get out from under him.” She looked around. “I’m sure you know who I am, what the tabloids say?”

“Well, I don’t generally believe tabloid tripe,” Molly said.

“There’s some truth to it,” she said. “But I’m not the ‘Queen B’ of the enterprise. It’s a front. My brother is the real brains behind it. He’s got me fobbed off to Jacob Enright for his own purposes. I really hate the man, to be honest. Who goes around slinking around behind their wife? It’s just…wrong.” She looked around. “He took the man I love away. Sent him off to America somewhere. New York City. Oh, I would give _anything_ to get him back and get rid of Jacob. I know his wife would probably love me if I did it, too.”

Molly considered things for a moment. “Do you know who Sherlock Holmes is?” she asked.

Tyra nodded. “The consulting detective?”

“Yes,” Molly said with a nod. “He’s a friend of mine. And I’m helping him with a case for Jacob’s wife. She knows he’s cheating, and she wants to nail him to the wall. And _I_ think, with a little help from Sherlock’s brother, we can make sure Jacob gets his just desserts and you get reunited with the man you love.”

Tyra studied her for a moment and then a slow grin spread across her face. “And can we take the piss out of my brother, too?”

“I don’t see why not,” Molly said with a grin. “Come on. Let’s go find someplace quiet and start making arrangements, shall we?” Tyra nodded, and with that the two women left and headed elsewhere. Molly wasn’t quite sure this is what Mycroft had had in mind for the evening, but she got the feeling he’d be pleased nonetheless.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly was walking out of St. Bart's, moving at a quick clip to the nearest Underground station, when a black sedan pulled up next to her and slowed to match her pace. After a moment she stopped, and the car did as well. The backseat window rolled down and Molly recognized Mycroft's assistant sitting there. “Anthea,” Molly said quietly. Anthea nodded, and then opened the door before sliding over to the other side of the seat. Molly stood for a moment more, then bit back a sigh and got into the back of the sedan, closing the door behind her. She rolled the window up and then turned to Anthea. “I suppose Mycroft wants to talk to me about not doing things according to plan with Tyra Baxter?”

“No,” Anthea said. “What you did worked out even more beautifully than he could have hoped for. He found out about Lovullo’s location, got the information he needed from him, and then passed on enough information to Scotland Yard to keep them busy for months. Plus he managed to spirit Miss Baxter away and reconnect her with Lovullo, just in time for him to learn he’s going to be an expectant father. It was the best possible ending it could have had.” She tilted her head. “Both you and Mary Watson should find some nice little additions to your current accounts as thanks.”

“Ah,” she said, confusion etching her features. “So if it all went well, what does he want to talk to me about?”

“ _He_ doesn't want to speak to you about anything,” she said quietly. “I needed to speak with you about something rather...delicate.” Anthea looked out the window, not looking at Molly. “You know who Irene Adler is, don't you?”

“Yes,” she said. “She was the woman in the tabloids. And I did her autopsy years ago. It was the one that I did on Christmas Day, the one that Mycroft was worried Sherlock was going to have trouble with.”

“Do you know why Sherlock was mixed up with her in the first place?” she asked.

Molly shook her head, even though Anthea wasn't looking in her direction. “No. He never told me what that case was about.”

“He was sent by one of the few people to whom Mycroft has to answer to to retrieve some sensitive material from Irene that she had alerted the royal family to having in her possession.”

“Blackmail?” Molly asked.

Anthea nodded. “The person being blackmailed was a young female royal caught in some fairly compromising positions with Irene. It would have been a scandal of epic proportions that would have destroyed her reputation. Sherlock was supposed to recover the incriminating photos, but it didn't quite work out as planned. He got them eventually, but then it got...complicated.”

Molly thought for a moment, and then a realization dawned on her. “The woman I autopsied wasn't really Irene Adler, was she?” she said.

Anthea gave her an approving smile. “No, she wasn't. That part isn't too much of a secret; John was aware she was still alive when she let herself into the flat at Baker Street and fell asleep in Sherlock's bed. She disappeared again after Sherlock figured out the passcode to her phone that evening, and as far as John is concerned, she's dead now.”

“But she's not,” Molly said slowly.

“No, she's not. Sherlock rescued her from being beheaded by terrorists many years back, and he sent her away with a new identity. She has been much better at remaining hidden this time, until recently.” Anthea studied her. “She offers up unique services to people who like unique things. Most of her clients have had some sort of evidence taken from them over the years, and she's never been afraid to use it. I had counted myself among the lucky ones. But then, our relationship was not the relationship of a client and a supplier of a service.”

Molly's eyes widened slightly. The fact Anthea had had a relationship with another woman didn't bother her; she had quite a few friends and acquaintances who were gay or lesbian or some other orientation. But the fact it was with Irene Adler was shocking. Molly had known about her reputation long before she'd supposedly crossed her autopsy table. “So you had an actual relationship with her?” she asked. “But...did you know she was a blackmailer when you started it?”

“Oh, I knew,” Anthea said. “I knew and I made her swear she'd never record us, she'd never take photographs, and she’d never persuade me to give her state secrets. And she never did, never once. Not any time we've been together. Until the last time, at least.”

“When was the last time?” Molly asked, trying to recover from her shock.

“Four weeks ago,” she said. “We were never an exclusive item. She was always allowed to have her clients and anyone else she wanted to bed, and I was allowed to be with whomever I chose. But when we wanted each other's company, if we were available, we gave it to each other. I came home from a business trip to Indonesia with Mycroft to find her in my home, waiting for me in my bed. It had been some time since our last dalliance, so we spent some time together. But I had been tired and I fell asleep shortly afterward. When I woke up the next morning she was gone, and I realized later someone had hacked into my phone and made a copy of all the data I store on it. Some of it is vital state information. They had gotten on my laptop as well, but the data on that isn't as important.”

“And now it's being held over your head,” Molly said, understanding dawning on her.

Anthea nodded. “Mycroft is aware of this, of course. He knows all about my past with Irene. He has ever since it began. And he knows my phone was hacked and that in all likelihood it was Irene that did it. He's put almost all his best resources towards this, but he's had no luck.”

“And his best resource is Sherlock, but Sherlock won't tear himself away from chasing Moriarty,” Molly said.

“Precisely,” Anthea said with another nod. “Mycroft was impressed with what you and Mary had done, figuring out that your friend was being kept under surveillance and that his home had been bugged, and what you two have done since. He suggested I see if the two of you would consider helping with the problem.”

“Well, I'm not sure what kind of help I can be,” Molly said. “I don't have the type of network that Sherlock does of contacts and informants. I mean, I was going to rely on Mycroft for things like that, and if he isn't having luck then I doubt I'll be much help.”

“Mary might have some, though,” Anthea said, and it sounded as though she was about to start pleading. “So far none of those secrets have been leaked into the wrong hands, but it could just be a matter of time. I don't know what her game is, why she needs blackmail again. For all I know, she's associated with Moriarty again.”

“Then shouldn't we alert Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“He won't listen right now, not without a definite connection between them,” she said. “At the very least, if you and Mary can find a connection between Irene and Moriarty then Mycroft can take that to his brother and force him to do something about it. I just need something.”

Molly looked at her. She had never seen Anthea like this before, where she was genuinely distressed. She always seemed so cool and aloof, but at the moment she seemed quite frightened. Molly realized this was a heavy burden on her shoulders; if those secrets got out it would inevitably lead back to her and her intimate association with Irene Adler, and that would spell disaster for her, Mycroft, the British government in general and potentially so much more than that. If Mary did have these contacts that Anthea was convinced she had, it wouldn't hurt to at least _try_. “All right,” she said. “I'll ask Mary for you.”

“Thank you,” Anthea said, giving Molly a grateful smile. “I'll have you taken home now.” She turned away from Molly at that point, focusing on her mobile as she usually did while Molly settled into her seat. She looked out the tinted windows of the car and saw bits of light as London flew by. When the car pulled up outside her flat Anthea reached over for her arm. “I know I don’t need to say discretion is paramount.”

“No, of course not,” Molly said. “But who am I being discrete with?”

“For now, John Watson,” she said. “If Sherlock gets involved then inevitably John will get involved, but for now…for now, I’d rather he be on the outside of this.”

“I’ll tell that to Mary when I talk to her,” she said.

“Mary already knows,” Anthea said. “It’s easier to get in touch with her than you since she isn’t working at the moment.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, then I’ll call her and we can chat.” Anthea nodded and Molly got out of the car. 

Anthea rolled down the window. “Whatever help you can provide…I appreciate it.” Molly nodded and then the window rolled up again and the car pulled away from the curb, leaving Molly on the pavement outside her building all alone.

She made her way to her flat and let herself in. Toby was at the door and wound himself around her legs, and after a moment Molly picked him up. It was then that she realized she wasn’t alone, and she turned on the light to see Sherlock there. “Don’t scare me like that, Sherlock,” she said, putting a hand to her chest.

“I needed a quiet place to think,” he said.

She tilted her head as she studied him. He seemed haggard, slightly run down. This was all wearing on him greatly, it seemed. “Did you make any progress?” she asked, moving into the kitchen to make them some tea. She’d order takeaway, too. Chinese, and twice as much, and she’d force him to eat.

“Someone is pulling strings,” he said.

She looked at him, surprised. “So you don’t think Moriarty is alive anymore?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “But someone is going to a great deal of trouble to make it appear that he is.” He got up out of the chair and came over to her. “I needed to go somewhere new to clear my head. I know I promised I wouldn’t just barge in or let myself in. I apologize.”

“It’s all right. In all honesty, I’m just glad you left Baker Street,” she said with a smile. “Look, why don’t you sit down and relax a bit? I’ll start some tea and order some Chinese, and then you can go over what you know and I can see if I can offer any headway, all right?”

“Are you sure?” he asked, almost as though she would change her mind.

She nodded. “I’m sure.” She turned him around and gave him a soft shove towards her kitchen table. “Go sit. You want kung pao chicken and eight egg rolls, right?”

“Yes, please,” he said. She watched him go and then pulled out her mobile as she went to her stack of menus. She could hold off on calling Mary for a bit, she decided. Right now she should attempt to take care of Sherlock, help him if he could. She could focus on things with Anthea tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly was surprised when she got a call from her superiors saying that she didn’t need to come into work the day after Anthea paid her a visit, but she supposed she should have expected it. Mycroft would want her to get started on Anthea’s problem as quickly as possible, and since she was fairly sure he had her home monitored she knew he knew she hadn’t spoken to Mary yet. An unexpected day off left her with no excuse not to contact Mary.

She waited a little while before calling Mary. Mary answered after three rings. “I thought you were supposed to be at your post,” she said.

“Well, I think Mycroft pulled some strings for our newest case,” Molly said with a soft chuckle. “I can understand why. It’s a rather large one.”

“Oh yes. It has the opportunity to be a huge international debacle,” she said. “Well, we need to start plotting things out. We don’t have Sherlock’s contacts, but we have some and I can start putting them to use.”

“What kind of contacts?” Molly asked.

Mary was quiet for a moment. “I’ve had a very…interesting…past,” she said.

“I’ve gathered that by now,” Molly said. She pulled her legs up under her. “Am I going to get to know the details one day?”

“It’s really best if you don’t,” Mary said quietly. “You’ll be safer that way.”

“Does your past have something to do with what happened on Christmas?” she asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Sherlock was trying to protect me, and by extension John.” There was a long pause. “I would rather not talk about it, at least not now. Not over the phone. Later, though, if you still have questions, then…we’ll see.”

“Fair enough,” she said. She could let the matter drop for now, she supposed. “Will your contacts be willing to help?”

“The ones who owe me favours will, though I need to be careful about who I call which favours in from,” Mary said. “But we should talk about this face to face. Have you eaten yet?”

“Just a bit of toast and marmalade,” Mary said.

“Come over here, then,” she said. “I know Mycroft has less surveillance here than at your flat, and I’m in the mood for a full fry-up, but I don’t want to eat it all on my own.”

“All right,” Molly said with a smile. “I’ll be there soonish.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said before hanging up.

Molly set her mobile down and began to get ready, putting on a dress since she wasn’t actually going in to Bart’s today. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed a cardigan as well. When she was dressed she stuck her head into the guest bedroom. As she had suspected, it was empty. Sherlock must have woken early and left to go back to Baker Street or on to some other bolt hole of his. They had stayed up until nearly one in the morning and she had insisted he stay there for the evening, but she hadn’t expected him to be there when she woke up. It was all right; he seemed to have gotten something out of it, something good, and that was what mattered.

When she was ready she got her keys and her handbag and left her flat, locking up after herself. She went to the curb and hailed herself a cab, and then headed towards John and Mary’s home. It didn’t take her long to get there, and when she got to the door she knocked. Mary answered moments later. “You made good time.”

“Well, I didn’t have to deal with a houseguest,” she said with a grin. “I think if Sherlock had still been there it would have been longer.”

“So he left Baker Street?” she asked, surprised.

Molly nodded. “He was in my flat when I was dropped off by Anthea,” she said. “We stayed up quite late going over things. He’s convinced now that Moriarty is dead and someone else is pulling the strings.”

“It’s a start,” Mary said with a nod. “Maybe he’ll start to focus on things other than this again.”

“Maybe,” Molly agreed. 

“I’ve already started breakfast,” Mary said. “Come in and keep me company while I finish making the rest.”

“All right,” Molly said. She went inside and Mary led the way to the kitchen. Molly sat nearby and they chatted about little things as Mary cooked, sampoling bits of things in the process. Soon Mary had it all out on the table. There were bangers and back bacon, beans, grilled tomatoes, two eggs over easy for her…there were even some fried mushrooms, some kippers and some hash. It looked as though Mary had a slice or two of white pudding as well. “You really did go all out,” she said, her eyes wide. “I don’t know if I can eat all of this.”

“I may just eat what you don’t,” Mary said. “I didn’t think I’d be so ravenous during this stage of pregnancy. I mean, I knew I was going to be hungry, but I feel like I’m starving all the time. Just…don’t tell John about today, about me eating so much. He’s fretting over me like a mother hen. This would just make his eyes bulge and his heart rate go up.”

“We can say I ate most of it,” Molly said, digging in with a smile. She took a bite and let out a slight moan of pleasure. “Oh, this is scrumptious.”

“When I go all out I go all out,” Mary said with a laugh.

“You certainly do,” Molly said approvingly. They ate more of their breakfast before she spoke again.”Did Anthea tell you the whole story, about her and Irene Adler?”

Mary nodded. “That Irene seduced her and then stole the files? Yeah, I know the whole story. Did you have any thoughts about that?”

“Not on what happened to Anthea, but…” Molly said, trailing off.

“But what?” Mary asked.

“Well, didn’t Irene have an obsession with Sherlock?” Molly asked. “And if Sherlock thinks Moriarty isn’t behind the video and everything that the government thinks he is couldn’t, possibly, Irene be behind it all?”

Mary looked at her thoughtfully. “It could be a theory. Everything I learned about Irene said she was smart enough to pull something like that off.”

“So you know a lot about her?” Molly asked before taking another bite of her food.

“I know quite a bit, yes,” she said. “I had connections with the CIA. They had…designs, on her. For secrets she knew.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. She was quiet for a moment. “Why would she, though?”

“That would be the question,” Mary said. “And that’s something we can look into as we try and track her down.”

“So we’re going to try and track Irene Adler down?” Molly asked.

“I think we owe it to Mycroft, at the very least,” Mary said. Then she smiled. “And besides, it’s a good case for H & W Consulting. It puts us in the big leagues with Sherlock and my husband.”

“H & W Consulting,” Molly said, rolling it over her tongue. “I quite like the sound of that.”

“I thought you might,” Mary said, her grin widening. “So let’s finish breakfast and then make plans. I’ll see about getting a hold of my contacts and we can examine things and see what we can do to help Mycroft and Anthea. Does that sound good?”

Molly nodded. “That sounds very good,” she said. This was going to be a very important case, she realized, and hopefully they could make some headway on it. It would be very interesting to see what happened next.


	5. Chapter 5

“Is it true you and Mary have started your own consulting business?” Lestrade asked Molly roughly three weeks after the first case she and Mary had solved together. They’d just solved another one involving a ring of thieves stealing high quality bicycles used by people not wanting to deal with the aggravations of London's automobile traffic. They'd discovered that certain types of bicycles could fetch thousands of pounds depending on the types of customizations made to them. That particular case had gotten their names mentioned in the paper, which had surprised Molly, but as Mary was having Braxton Hicks contractions and the doctor wanted her to stay on bed rest until her actual contractions started there wasn't much they could do with the uptick in cases, unless Molly worked them alone. John was refusing to help out of loyalty to Sherlock, aside from passing along the cases he knew Sherlock would never take anyway, and Sherlock wasn't paying attention to Molly and Mary's side career one way or the other.

Molly nodded, continuing to stitch up the victim of Lestrade's that she'd just finished autopsying. She still had to spend time running tests because the cause of death wasn't anything obvious, but she could tell him a few details now. He didn't seem to want them, though, instead wanting to talk about her side job instead. “H & W Consulting,” she said. “We specialize mostly in the recovery of stolen items at the moment, with the odd surveillance case thrown into the mix.” She didn’t feel the need to mention the cases she had done for Mycroft.

“Would you consider adding becoming an official consultant to Scotland Yard on the matter of homicide to your repertoire?” he asked.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, you know you're my usual pathologist, but not my only one, right?” he said hesitantly.

She nodded. “I can't handle every dead body in London. I'd never get any sleep otherwise and there would still be a backlog.”

He relaxed. “Well, Dr. Sanderson got a body that I ended up getting the case for. It's one of the types of murders I'd normally ask for Sherlock's advice on, but he hung up on me before I could give him the details on it, and I'm stuck.”

Molly frowned. Sherlock had at least let them plead their case before turning them down before, so he had either had a breakthrough with his hunt for Moriarty or he was sinking into a depression. Either way, she was sure Lestrade had deserved better. “Let me finish with the sutures and then you can tell me about the case while I head over to the path lab to run the tests on the samples I took, all right?”

The look of relief on his face was clearly evident. “Thank you so much, Molly. I appreciate it,” he said with a wide smile.

“Well, you're a dear friend, Greg,” she said, giving him a grin back. “It's the least I can do.” She turned her attention back to the body and finished her sutures quickly. After a moment's thought she nodded towards the office. Charles Sanderson was one of those rare people who never minded if someone took a second look over their work, so long as they told him first, and she wanted to make sure she did that. When they got inside she sat at her desk and picked up the phone there. “Let me call Charles and tell him you're asking for my opinion as an outside consultant, and that it may involve reexamining the body and going over the autopsy results, all right? I owe him the courtesy.”

“Of course,” Lestrade said with a nod.

Molly dialed Charles Sanderson's home telephone number and waited. There was an answer after two rings. “Hello?” he asked.

“Charles? This is Molly Hooper, from St. Bart's,” she said warmly.

“Oh, it's good to hear from you,” he said. “I thought I recognized the number on caller ID. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I'm in the office with DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard. He's asked me to come in as an outside consultant on a case of his, and he told me you were the one who did the autopsy on his victim.”

“Ah, yes. He must mean the young man from down on the docks,” Charles said. “I'll admit, that puzzled me.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Well, there was a single stab wound, straight to the kidneys,” he said. “Expertly delivered from behind. But I can't for the life of me figure out the type of weapon that was used. And then there's the matter of the lungs. There was a patch that was black, as though it was cancerous, but there were no signs of cancer in the tests I ran.”

She had picked up a pen to take notes, and when she was done she began to tap it. “Has his body been picked up for burial yet?”

“He was a John Doe, so he was going to go out with the next batch of them as soon as your Detective would allow us to release the body. If he hasn't done it yet, the young man should still be in the refrigeration unit.”

“Would you mind terribly if I took another look for Greg?”

“Greg?” Charles asked, sounding amused.

“Detective Lestrade,” she said. 

“I know who you meant,” he said with a soft chuckle. “We all know you're his favorite. He actually sulks a bit when someone else is conducting his autopsy. It's more endearing than insulting, though.”

She smiled. “I find that to be a compliment.”

“Well, don't tell him we've noticed.”

“It will be our secret,” she said with a small laugh. “As soon as I get done running the tests for the body I just autopsied I'll have my second look at your body. Would you like me to let you know what I find out?”

“Absolutely. This appears as though it will be a very tricky case, and if you can puzzle it out I think I'd like to know all the details.”

“Then you'll be the first to know after Scotland Yard, I promise,” she said with a smile. 

“Isn't this the type of case he'd normally bring that Holmes chap in on?” Charles asked after a brief pause.

“Sherlock's a bit occupied with something else at the moment,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It's part of the reason I've started a side business as a consultant, actually. To take some of the cases he's ignoring.”

“Well, I think London will be better off with you on the case, dear. You always were inquisitive and overly curious,” he said. “Just don't get into anything dangerous, if you can help it.”

“I'll try my best not to,” she said. “I'll talk to you later, Charles. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Good-bye, Molly,” he said, and then he hung up.

Molly set the phone back in the handset and then turned to Lestrade. “I need to run the tests for this current case, but then I can work on your other one. If you want to join me in the path lab and you're careful not to distract me too much I can listen to the details of that one while I work.”

Lestrade nodded as Molly got up out of her chair. “What was the secret bit about?” he asked as they began to make their way out of the office.

“Just something between colleagues,” she said. “And besides, if I told you it wouldn't be a secret, now, would it?” She gave him a smile and then began to gather up her samples and load them onto her cart to take them to the lab. 

Lestrade began to go into the details as they walked and continued as she settled into work, lapsing into silence when she needed to concentrate. A male victim was found by the London Docks, facedown with a pool of blood at his midsection and a single through and through stab wound. There were no witnesses to be found and time of death had been estimated at 3:46 in the morning. The victim was in his late twenties and had a scar running down the center of his chest, as though he had had some sort of open heart surgery. It was at that point that Molly made him stop. “What is it?” he asked.

“As soon as we're done with these samples we need to go back to the morgue. You may have a bigger problem on your hand then one dead man at the docks,” she said with a frown. Lestrade nodded and didn't press, instead letting her work. She worked quickly but efficiently, and once everything was done and she either had her results or had sent them off to other parts of the hospital for the testing she couldn't do herself she hurried back to the morgue with Lestrade close at her heels. Once they were inside she looked at Lestrade. “Tell me the physical description of your victim again.”

Lestrade pulled out his notebook. “Roughly 185 centimeters, medium build, short black hair, blue eyes, thin but muscular,” he read.

Molly walked along the refrigeration unit, looking at drawer numbers, and then finally finding the right one. “This is one of Dimmock's victims, from a street mugging,” she said, pulling the drawer open. She motioned for Lestrade to come closer and then she pulled back the sheet covering him. “Roughly the same height and build and musculature, same hair color, same eye color,” she said. And then she gestured to his chest. “And he'd had some sort of surgery to his chest area as well.”

“His resemblance is uncanny,” Lestrade said, leaning in more. “Who did this autopsy?”

“I did, two days ago. And while I didn't take a close look at the lungs the first time I did notice a black spot, though I didn't test it for cancer. I think I need to take a closer look.”

“Are you going to cut him back open?” Lestrade asked curiously.

She shook her head. “I thought it was interesting so I took a high resolution picture of it. I think it's time to view the picture and magnify it as much as I can, after I see if Charles took a photograph of his victim's black spot.” She pulled the sheet back over her victim and then pushed the drawer back in before walking at a fast clip back to the office. When she was there she pulled up all the files for the John Doe and for her own victim, who had been named Derek Considine. She saw that Charles had indeed photographed his victim's spot before he'd biopsied it, and she pulled up both images and increased the magnification. Finally she could tell what it was. “Do you see what I see, Greg?”

“Their lungs have been tattooed,” he said, and when she turned to look at them she saw his eyes were wide. “But I don't understand what it says.”

She frowned. “Neither do I. And this would be the type of thing I would ask Sherlock's expertise in, since he's fluent in quite a few languages.”

“Do you even know what language it is?” he asked.

“I'm guessing possibly Greek,” she said. “But I don't know.” She moved her computer's mouse and printed out two copies of each photograph. “You take one set and deliver the good news to Dimmock that your cases are connected. There might be one other person who can help me with this, and I'll see if they're willing.”

“All right,” Lestrade said with a nod. He straightened up and moved to the door before pausing. “Molly, what you just did...it was brilliant. It was on a Sherlock level of brilliant at that.”

She blushed at the compliment. “It wasn't that much of a help,” she said.

“But it gives us a connection we didn't have before, and a fresh avenue to explore since we knew these two victims have some sort of connection now,” he said with a grin. “I think if Sherlock ever gives it all up for good we'll do just fine with you around.”

Lestrade left then, and Molly turned back to the photographs before going to get her mobile off the desk. She went to call Mycroft's unlisted number but she saw she had a text message. She checked it and saw it was from Mary. _I'm dying of boredom, love. Please, help me before I severely hurt John for hovering too much?_

She chuckled at that and then keyed in a reply. _I got asked to consult on a case for Scotland Yard. I need to decipher some tattoos found on two victim’s lungs. I don't recognize the language, though._ She sent it and waited for a response.

It came seconds later. _Send a picture?_ Mary asked. Molly made sure the lighting was adequate and then snapped pictures of her printouts with her phone before sending them to Mary. There was a lengthy pause before Mary texted her back. _These men were in a very dangerous Greek anti-government organization. You need to alert Mycroft immediately._

Molly looked at the message, stunned. _How do you know that?_ Molly texted back when she recovered a bit.

There was a pause before she got a reply. _I have a lot of secrets. Very dangerous secrets. And a very dangerous past._ It was immediately followed by _The less you know the safer you'll be._

Molly looked at the texts. _I figured that much out already. Both parts._ she sent back.

There was an even lengthier pause this time before she received a reply. _I trust you, Molly. Don't think I don't trust you. I just want to keep you safe._

_I know that, too. _Molly texted back.__

There was another pause, though this one seemed much shorter than the others. _Do you want to know my secrets? I can tell you as little as John chooses to know, as much as Sherlock knows, or something in between._

 _You decide,_ Molly sent as her reply.

 _Call Mycroft first. Then come over and we can talk._ Mary texted back.

Molly looked at the text and then typed in one word. _Okay._ she sent back. She went out of her texting program in order to call Mycroft, and then to call Lestrade as well if Mycroft would let her. Finally she was not going to be the outsider anymore, she realized. She was going to know everything that was to be known. She just hoped it didn't change her opinions about those she cared about.


	6. Chapter 6

It had certainly been an interesting conversation, she'd admit that much. Molly hadn't been sure how much she really wanted to know. Did she want to know more than John did about his own wife? How much more had Sherlock figured out? If Sherlock knew it, did Mycroft know it as well? In the end, Mary just answered any questions she had, simply and truthfully, until Molly stopped asking them. She knew normal people would be disturbed by what Mary had told her, about the things she had done. And she should have been angry as hell for Mary being the one to shoot Sherlock. But the strange thing was that she understood. She took it all in and thought about it and took a rather Zen approach to the whole thing. A person's past does not necessarily mean they should be condemned to a damning future, after all. And from what Mary said, a lot of what she had done had been beyond her say so anyway. She had been following orders, and if she hadn't, she'd have been killed.

There had been a lot to think about, obviously, and she said she might need time to completely accept all of it. Mary graciously understood, but it had been at that moment when her eyes had widened and Molly could clearly see the damp spot of the sofa where she'd been laying. Mary had quite obviously begun to go into labor. Mary seemed very calm and it was Molly who was panicking slightly, but not nearly as much as John was when she phoned him. For a doctor she thought he'd be more levelheaded but eventually she just handed her mobile off to Mary so she could calm her husband down and picked up the travel bag to take to the car so they could get to the hospital. It didn't take long for them to get to King's College, or for John to join them. 

Soon Molly was shunted to the waiting room while John took over the coaching duties, and she worried and fretted on her own for a bit before she was surprisingly joined by Sherlock. She looked up and saw him come in slowly, as though he wasn't sure he was going to be wanted there, as though it wasn't appropriate for him to be there, and when he caught her eye she gave him an encouraging smile. “Sherlock,” she said warmly.

He nodded slightly and then made his way over towards her, sitting next to her. “Any news?” he asked.

“It's only been an hour and a half since her water broke,” she said. “When I left an hour ago the contractions were seven minutes apart. It could be some time until the baby's born.”

He nodded again and then looked down at his hands. “It's important I stay,” he said in a tone that almost implied it was more a question than a statement.

“If something important comes up, I'm sure they'll understand,” she said, reaching over for his hand. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over his, and then she grasped it in a firm but not too firm grip. “Have you made any progress?”

“None,” he said. “Any time a hint of whoever’s posing as Moriarty pops up it's gone before I can track it down again. But someone is putting his network back together, bit by bit. Mycroft's dismantling it as he can, but they're just ahead of him.”

“Do you have any idea who’s doing it?” she asked.

“I can't say for certain,” he said. “Whoever it is, they aren’t as efficient as Moriarty was before, which means I did a good job wiping out Moriarty’s resources. It will be easier to put a stop to it before the web gets as large or as thick.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to have to leave again?” she asked.

“Perhaps, but most likely not,” he said, turning to look at her.

Her grin got warmer as she relaxed. “That's good. London could do with Sherlock Holmes a while longer.”

“London seems to be doing well enough with you and Mary taking my place,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “Eight cases solved in the span of three weeks, a few of which have had international reverberations.”

She frowned. “We've only solved seven out of the eight we've had,” she said. She didn't feel the need to bring up the case for Anthea since that wasn't even close to being solved yet.

“Mycroft called me before John did, berating me for not fulfilling my duties to Scotland Yard, and he ended the lecture by telling me if I didn't make myself useful they'd replace me altogether and I'd find myself destitute and penniless. I asked who could possibly replace me and he said you and Mary had single handedly given Scotland Yard and the British and Greek governments the information they needed to solve two murders, stop a third one and prevent an assassination attempt on the Greek ambassador. That wasn’t counting what you did bringing down two crime syndicates on your second case. One I would have ignored as I would have thought it was simply a matter for a private investigator.”

Molly's eyes widened. “I...we really did all that?”

Sherlock nodded. “I expect Scotland Yard is going to want to make more use of your services. I might have to view you as competition.”

“I didn't _mean_ to be competition,” she said, blushing. “I just...you weren't taking cases and it wasn't fair to the people who needed help, so we took a small one and then another small one but it was a large one and then it just built from there, and then Greg asked me to help with the murder this morning and then...” Sherlock smiled a bit more and she blinked before getting angry. She pulled her hand away from his. “I'm so glad you find my discomfort amusing.”

“It's not your discomfort I find amusing, Molly,” he said. “It's how you stumbled into a secondary career you do remarkably well at. And so you know, there are quite a few cases that I don't take. Not just insignificant ones, but challenging ones that don't interest me, or cases from Detective Inspectors I would prefer not to deal with. I could always refer you and Mary for those cases, if Mary is still inclined to pursue this after the baby is born.”

“I suppose,” she said after some thought.

Sherlock studied her for a moment, and then he seemed to have a revelation. “How much do you know now?”

“About Mary?” she asked. He nodded. “Quite a bit. More than John, I think, but less than you.”

“She willingly told you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said with a slight nod. “She said she trusted me, and I deserved to know, even though the less I knew the safer I would be.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “But knowledge is also power. And knowledge of secrets can either be a very powerful weapon or a very large target on your back.” He was quiet for a few moments, but before he could continue the conversation John came out. They both turned to look at him. “Well?”

“The contractions are coming every three minutes now. At the rate it's going Dr. Hanover thinks it will be maybe two hours until the baby's born, if even that long.” He looked over at Sherlock. “I know there are other things you probably need to do, so...”

“I have all the time in the world,” he assured John, and John got a wide grin on his face.

“Me too,” Molly said with a smile. “Go be with Mary. We'll be out here when you have news for us.” John nodded and then turned to leave, and Molly faced Sherlock again. “I'm glad you're going to be here for this.”

Sherlock leaned back in the chair before he spoke, and after a moment she did the same. “When I came back, and John had moved on so utterly in his life, I felt a hole in me. And it couldn't be filled with others; Lestrade had his life, Mrs. Hudson had hers, you had yours. I felt more alone than I had before I had met John, because I had finally made a friend, and it felt as if I had lost him for good.”

“But you hadn't,” she said quietly.

“No, I hadn't,” he agreed. “But I'm a selfish man. I've always been selfish. I wanted all of his attention, and I didn't want to share him. And I wanted to hate Mary for being an intrusion. There were nagging bits around the edges of hers that told me she was trouble, that she was dangerous, but I ignored those signs for one reason and one reason alone.”

“What reason was that?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“She was willing to share John. She wanted parts of him to herself, large parts, but she didn't want to keep him from me. She didn't discount how important we were to each other. She encouraged us to spend time together, to bond again. She was willing to make me an integral part of their life together, when she could have just as easily pushed me out of it.” He smiled faintly. “You know by now that she's the one who shot me in Magnussen's apartment, correct?” 

She nodded. “She told me about that.”

“She is a trained killer. She could have easily shot me in the heart or in the head. She could have shot me in a way that would have paralyzed me from the waist down. But she shot me in a way that she _knew_ I could survive, while still giving the appearance she wanted me dead. Now, granted, I was upset afterward and I wanted to hurt her and I may have ignored that part when I set up how John found out about his wife's secret, but it was quite obvious she could have easily killed me and chose not to.” His grin widened ever so slightly. “When I did finally remember that, that was how I knew she genuinely liked me.”

Molly couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips at that. Sherlock didn't seem offended; if nothing else, the amusement in his own expression seemed to grow. “I'm glad I never had to go to those lengths to prove I liked you,” she said when she stopped laughing.

“No. You just treated me with kindness when others treated me with scorn,” he said, his expression softening slightly. “Even when I gave you every reason not to.”

“Well, I could see you really just needed a friend,” she said. “I know I didn't become one until later, but I assumed being kind to you wouldn't hurt. And it wasn't as though it cost me anything to be kind.”

“Is that true, though?” he asked as he became more serious. “When I was cruel to you, and you would smile in response, were there tears later? Did you simply stow it away or stomp it down? Did my words actually hurt you and you just didn't let it show?”

“They did, sometimes,” she admitted. “And there may have been tears, once or twice. But I would always come up with a justification, and then the times when you were nice, they made up for them.”

“I'm sorry I hurt you,” he said.

“It's long past, Sherlock,” she said. “You've changed, and I think that I can forgive and forget all the interactions before you began to...before you...” She groped for how to phrase what she wanted to say. “Matured,” she said finally.

“Matured?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You really did act like a demanding, spoiled child before,” she said. “When you met John, you began to realize there were other people in the world and that it mattered to them how you treated them. Did you know that when you told me that I had counted I nearly kissed you? Not on the lips or anything like that, but on the cheek. Mostly because that was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever said to me.” 

“I see,” he said. “But things like that have been said to you since.”

She nodded. “Yes, obviously.”

Sherlock looked away again. “Why did your engagement end?” he asked.

“Tom wanted me to choose, between him and the life I'd had,” she said. “And he didn't want any compromise. He didn't want me to pick and choose bits of my old life to move into this new one with him. But he didn't want to give up as much of himself for me, and I thought I deserved better.”

“He wanted you to cut me out of your life,” Sherlock said with a slight scowl.

“Not just you,” she said, and he looked up. “He wanted me to stop being friends with John and Mary. He wanted me to see about working at a different hospital, or finding a different profession altogether. He was even talking about taking a promotion that would take us away from London. That was what really made the decision easy. He said he'd strongly considered agreeing on the spot, without even asking me for my input. If I wasn't going to get a say in a decision like that then what was I going to get a say in?”

Sherlock studied her. “So you decided it would be best to be alone rather than give up pieces of yourself,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “I read a quote towards the end that stuck with me. It said something like 'I am not looking for my better half because I am whole all on my own.' Tom didn't see me as whole. He saw me as a shiny half of him, and that wasn't how it should be. I deserve a partner who doesn't ask me to give up parts of myself to make them happy.”

“Yes, you do,” he said with a nod. “I think you made the best decision for yourself.”

“I think I did too,” she said, giving him a soft smile. She leaned towards him slightly. “While we're on the subject of relationships...I mean, I have no right to ask, but...”

“Janine?” he asked, a wry grin on his face. She nodded. “On my part, at least, it was an act. I have some fond feelings for her, but not of a romantic nature. But I needed her to gain access to Magnussen's apartment the night I got shot.”

“So if it was an act...?” she asked slowly, feeling her cheeks warm.

“We'll just say Janine has a vivid imagination and was rather flattering towards me even though she really didn't need to be and leave it at that,” Sherlock said.

“Ah,” Molly said with a nod. If Sherlock noticed her blushing he said nothing, giving her time to compose herself. She hated to admit it, but she was quite elated to find out that Sherlock's legendary exploits were entirely mythical. She really had tried her damnedest to get over him, to move on. She had cared for Tom, had loved him quite a bit, but she always knew deep down that she wanted Sherlock. It was the little black secret of her heart, the one she'd carry with her to her deathbed most likely. She'd pine after him the rest of her life, and when he finally did decide to have a life with someone, if he ever did, she would probably secretly hate that woman even if she would smile to her face. It made her feel ugly inside but it was the truth and she wasn't going to lie to herself about it anymore. When she was composed again she smiled at him. “Do you think you're going to go back to consulting for Scotland Yard again now?”

“I suppose I should, before I'm dropped in favor of you and Mary altogether,” he said, returning her smile with his own small one. “And I can't offer up competition if I don't take cases.”

“You're keen to see this as a competition, aren't you?” she said in a teasing tone.

“Well, I do my best work either under pressure or when there's reason to prove I'm the best at whatever it is I'm doing,” he said. “You're both quite good, but John and I are better. That's a proven fact.”

“Do you want to place a friendly wager on this, Sherlock?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I could be persuaded to do that,” Sherlock said. “Dinner at an expensive restaurant, perhaps? Winner's choice.”

“I like that,” she said with a nod. “How will we determine a winner?”

“Percentage of cases solved in, say, a six month period?” he asked. “With a minimum of eight cases a month? That averages out to two a week. Cases can be worked with your partner or separately, and you must be contracted for your services.”

“I'll agree to those terms,” she said, reaching over and offering Sherlock her hand. He shook it and then let go a moment later before leaning back in his seat. “This is going to be a very interesting next six months, I think.”

“I agree,” he said. “It will nice to be back in the game again.”

“Good. We've all missed you,” she said. He gave her a grin and she grinned back. She was glad to see him wanting to be active in the world again, wanting to engage and compete with her. She was even more glad he was here waiting with her for the next chapter in their friends’ life to begin, because it was exactly where he should be. Maybe today would be the turnaround point they had all thought he so desperately needed. She certainly hoped so, at any rate.


	7. Chapter 7

Lestrade was waiting for Molly outside her morgue a couple of weeks after the wager between Sherlock and her was made. He had two coffees in his hands and gave her a wide grin as she got closer. “Just the person I was looking for,” he said, offering her a coffee.

She slowed as she got closer. “Isn’t it usually Sherlock who you’re looking for?” she asked warily, taking one of the coffees.

“He says this is a three and I should pass it on to you and Mary,” he said.

Molly grinned slightly at that. Even with the wager, he wasn’t being an arse. He could have taken the case even with it being a three and not sent it her way. “Well, why don’t you come in and tell me the details and I’ll see what I can do.”

Lestrade nodded and then opened the door for her. They made their way into her office and she sat down and her desk, sipping her coffee. It was exactly how she took it: a mocha flavored with hazelnut with an extra shot of espresso and topped off with whipped topping. “All right,” he said, setting his own coffee down on her desk and pulling out her notebook. “The victim was Cesar Spinks. He was a magician who ran a blog. Found murdered in his home this morning by a Francesca Capaldo, who says she’s his assistant.”

“Am I going to be getting his body soon?” she asked.

“He should already be in the refrigeration unit, unless your colleague did the autopsy,” he said.

She set her coffee down and looked through the files on the desk. Finally she saw one with the victim’s name on it and opened it. “It looks as though Dr. Chayasirisobhon did it already,” she said. She scanned the results. “Cause of death was suffocation. It looks as though a plastic bag was held over his head. He has some subdermal bruising and a wound to the back of the head that could have rendered him unconscious.”

“There was no plastic bag around his head when he was found,” Lestrade said with a frown, looking up. “Anything else?”

“Skin was found under his fingernails. He fought back,” she said as she looked up. “Why do you need our help?”

“The blog that Spinks ran. It was an appreciation blog for the various magician shows here in London. Simon Drake, Richard Leigh, Tony Middleton, The Magic Circle…he was a rather big fan,” Lestrade said. “Our superiors don’t think it’s a viable resource but I’m not sure. I’d like for you and Mary to see if there’s anything in the blog that could point to a solid lead.” He scribbled down a website address on his notepad and then tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to her. “This is the website.”

Molly nodded and took the sheet of paper. “We could definitely do that,” she said. “Would you like me to go over the autopsy results more, see if there’s anything that sticks out?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Lestrade said with a nod. “Whatever help you and Mary can give, that’d be great.”

“Then we’ll get on it as soon as we can,” she said. Lestrade gave her one last grin and then left her office. She turned to her files again and looked at them, figuring out what autopsies she had to do for the day. She sent Mary a text, asking her to meet her for lunch if she felt like bringing Lillian out. Before she went to work, Mary texted her back and said John was home and he’d watch Lillian so they could have a real, grown-up lunch. She texted Mary back the URL and asked her to look into it until lunch. 

Mary showed up at twelve thirty on the dot, just as Molly finished typing up the report from her second autopsy of the day. “So we have a reservation at Vivat Bacchus, just to make sure we got a seat. Any restaurant that has a motto about life being too short to drink bad wine is a place I want to visit at least once. Can you take an hour?”

“I can take a little over, if needed,” she said with a smile. “Sadly, I’ll have to skip the wine, though.”

“I’m just glad I can indulge again,” she said as Molly took her lab coat off. Molly hung it up and then took her regular coat and put it on, and the two made the short walk to the restaurant. Molly had never eaten there before and the minute they walked in she knew she was going to enjoy it there. They were seated and studied their menus. “How hungry are you?” Mary asked.

“Starved, to be honest,” Molly said. “I ran out of my flat without breakfast this morning.”

“Well, the prices look quite reasonable,” Mary said. “Order what you feel like.” Molly nodded. When the waiter came to take their orders Molly ordered wild mushrooms on toast to start and the lamb gigot steak while Mary got the crayfish cocktail to start and grilled sea bass with a glass of Finca Allende Rioja Blanco from 2011. Molly looked over at her and grinned. “I had to stay away from fish for nine months. I want to indulge until I’m sick of it. Same with wine.”

“How is life with Lillian?” Molly asked as their menus were taken.

“It’s absolutely heaven, even if there are sleepless nights and wet nappys and her cries threaten to shatter my eardrums sometimes,” Mary said. “I adore her so much, Molly. She’s just…she’s perfect.”

Molly nodded. “There are times I wish I could be a mum,” she said wistfully.

“It will happen someday,” Mary said. “You just have to find a man who adores you, who worships the ground you walk on.”

“I would just love a man who loves and respects me, to be honest,” she said. “Though I doubt I’ll find him, at this rate.”

“You just might,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Molly looked at her friend. “I know that look. What do you know?”

“John said that Sherlock knows this case is really a five,” Mary said with a grin. “He just wants to make sure we get a fair shot at your wager.”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t want him to lose on purpose,” she said with a sigh. “There’s no point in the wager if he _lets_ me win.”

“Maybe he doesn’t understand you want it to be an actual competition,” Mary said. “I can have John try and explain it to him.”

“That would be wonderful,” Molly said. She looked down for a moment. “Why don’t we talk about the case?”

“All right,” Mary said. “So it turns out that our victim was more than just a fan. He wanted to find out their secrets, perform them himself on the stage. He studied their acts and tried to replicate them. But he did admire the magicians very much, and each of the major acts in London had their own tag in his blog with posts about his various visits to their acts.” Mary leaned back in her seat. “He admired different things about each act. With Richard Leigh, it was the ambiance of the longest running show in London, The Magic Cavern. With Tony Middleton it was the fact that the act was set around Victorian times and had some of the best sleight of hand in the city. With Simon Drake it was the sense of exclusivity and secrecy and the skill of his illusions. With the various acts put on by The Magic Society it was the history behind it and the variety between what each performer did.”

“Were any of them particulary upset that he was trying to copy their acts?” she asked.

“One user in the forums, a houdini2314, accused him of stealing part of his act,” Mary said. “I pulled some strings and found out that the username belongs to a Francisco Capaldo.”

“Capaldo?” Molly asked, her eyes wide. “Greg said the person who found the victim was Francesca Capaldo.”

“Those names are similar enough that they’d have to be related,” Mary said, narrowing her eyes. “I’d bet they’re twins.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Molly said thoughtfully. “We should tell Lestrade. I think this is a lead he’d like to check out.”

“Well, since we’ve done our bit, let’s sit down and enjoy our lunch, as soon as you tell him,” Mary said with a grin.

Molly nodded, pulling out her mobile and sending a text to Lestrade. He replied a moment later saying he would look into it and then she and Mary settled into their lunch. When their meals were over they both indulged in dessert, with Molly deciding on the chocolate textura and Mary deciding on the mango panna cotta petit pot. Molly made her way back to the hospital after that and went back to work, and just as she was getting ready to leave she had a visitor. She gave Lestrade a warm smile. “So, did it help?” she asked.

He nodded. “It turned out Cesar Spinks was leading a double life. He was actually a Mexican immigrant named Cameron Valentinez-Ronquillo and the reason he was trying to figure out how those magicians were performing their acts was to sell those secrets for money to publishers in Mexico. He was making quite a packet on what he’d deduced so far.”  
“That’s quite interesting,” Molly said, her eyes wide.

Lestrade nodded. “Anyway, Francisco Capaldo realized that his act had been studied and broken down when he saw someone from Mexico performing his act on YouTube, and he did some digging and found out about the Valentinez-Ronquillo’s double life. He talked his sister into becoming Spinks’ assistant to get information on his life and then last night he made his move. He confessed to the murder and said his sister had nothing to do with it, and since we can’t really refute it we’re going to let her walk.”

Molly shook her head. “It’s a real shame.”

“Yes, it is,” Lestrade said. “But, I want to thank you and Mary for your help. We couldn’t have cracked it without you two.”

“Oh, this was more Mary,” Molly said. “She was the one who did her thing and found out he had been leaving the comments.”

“Well, still. You helped.” Lestrade gave her a grin. “I bet Sherlock wouldn’t have done it as quickly.”

“He probably already had it solved before he fobbed us off on you,” she said with a wry grin. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“If I have any more cases for you, I’ll let you two know,” Lestrade said. He nodded towards her. “Have a good evening, Molly.”

“You too, Greg,” she said with a smile. Lestrade turned and left and Molly finished getting her things together and then began to head home. She made her way to the nearest Underground station and began to wait for the train when her mobile began to ring. She answered it when she saw it was Sherlock. “Hi, Sherlock.”

“I didn’t have it solved,” he said. “Your case, I mean. And even though I knew it was a five I’m in the middle of a complicated eight. I felt it deserved an expert eye and that meant you and Mary.”

She smiled. “Ah. I see.”

“If you want, I won’t send any other cases your way,” he said. “In fairness of the wager.”

“I suppose it’s all right,” she said. “But no claiming that we didn’t deserve to win when we beat you.”

“You’re so sure you’ll beat me,” he said, his tone amused.

“I am.”

“Then let’s raise the stakes of the wager. No limit on how much can be spent on the meal or how many portions can be ordered.”

“Then you can feed me for a week,” she said. 

“Or _you_ can feed _me_.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “Do you have plans for tonight?”

“No,” he said. “Do you?”

“No. But we solved our case, and there was a great restaurant that Mary and I had lunch at this afternoon that I’d like to try some other meals at. I’ll cover it since it’s a celebration.”

“That could be interesting,” he said.

“Okay. Then meet me at Vivat Bacchus and I’ll see if I can get us a table,” she said, turning to head back to the street level.

“I’ll take care of getting us a reservation,” he said. “I’ll throw my brother’s name around. It works wonders.”

“Then you take care of that and I’ll see you in a half hour?” she asked.

“A half hour it is,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, Molly.”

“Okay. Bye, Sherlock,” she said. She hung up and finished walking back up to street level with a wide smile on her face. Today had turned out to be quite a good day, she thought to herself, and tonight was going to be a good night as well, she hoped.


	8. Chapter 8

Business picked up quite a bit in the month following the magician murder case. John actually stopped giving them as many cases from the blog but that was okay because they were getting cases on their own. Mary had a friend of hers build then a website that talked about their services and the cases they had solved. The detectives at Scotland Yard that they had assisted gave glowing references, as did some of their private clientele. Soon enough, they were getting more cases than Sherlock and John, it seemed.

Molly enjoyed her second job quite a bit. There were times she actually enjoyed it more than her work as a pathologist, to be honest. And the extra money was quite nice. She was already coming up with ways to spend it, including perhaps taking a vacation somewhere warm and sunny, like the type of place she’d planned on taking her honeymoon. Knowing her, though, she would just invest it or save it and use it in case of an emergency.

She was getting ready for a shift at St. Bart’s when there was a pounding on her door. She was only partially dressed at that point, having pulled her trousers on and put on her bra when it started. She grabbed her dressing gown and quickly pulled it on as she hurried to her door, undoing the locks and flinging it open. Mary stood there and she looked frightened. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving out of the way. After a moment she noticed there was blood on Mary’s neck and her eyes widened. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“Melinda…Melinda was shot,” Mary said, coming into Molly’s flat. She began to pace in fron of Molly’s sofa. “She called me, out of the blue, last night. She said she needed to make contact about our mutual friend. She asked to meet this morning at Hyde Park and I got there and we talked and then a shot rang out and she was down.”

“Wait a moment,” Molly said, guiding Mary to the sofa and sitting down on it. “What mutual friend?”

“Irene Adler,” Mary said, sitting down on the sofa. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on her thighs and her head in her hands. “Back when Sherlock had dealings with her, there was a CIA team that was in charge of collecting her to get her secrets. When they failed in the mission the first time, at her home, I was brought in, in case drastic measures were needed. Melinda was my handler. When word got out that Irene had died around Christmas my assignment changed and I was tasked with monitoring Sherlock and John. I just assumed Irene was dead like everyone else. But Melinda never bought it. When Anthea brought us into the situation she had with Irene I contacted her and she said she’d let me know if she heard anything.”

“What did she manage to tell you?” Molly asked.

“Irene is definitely alive, and moving around Europe,” Mary said. “Before that she was in the Americas. And she’s up to something. Something big.”

Molly leaned back into the sofa. “If she’s got the information from Anthea’s phone and laptop, it could mean any number of things,” she said. “But this is not good news.”

“No, it’s not,” Mary said.

Molly studied her closely. “You need a drink,” she said, standing up. “And a shower, too.”

“Yes, I think I do,” Mary said with a nod, looking up.

“Who got the case?” Molly asked as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Lestrade, thank God,” she said. “He doesn’t know my full background but I expect he’s about to get a crash course whether I want him to or not. It’s just as well, I suppose. He probably should know.”

“Why do I think this is a case Sherlock and John are going to be called in on?” she asked as she went to her sink. She knelt down and pulled out the bottle of whiskey that was underneath and then put it on the counter before getting a glass.

“Once he finds out my connection to the case he may not be able to,” she said. “But I doubt that would stop Mycroft from assisting. I mean, that’s if they’re even allowed to touch it. Melinda was an American. They may call in the American consulate, or the government may step in and sweep it all under the rug. We _were_ in a fairly isolated part of the park and I don’t think there were any witnesses.”

Molly poured her a hefty measure and then took the glass out to Mary. Mary grasped it in both hands and then took a long drink as Molly sat next to her again. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, placing a hand on Mary’s knee.

Mary nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just…I have very few friends from my old life. It’s hard to lose them, especially when it’s in front of me.”

“Have you had that happen before?” she asked.

“More times than I can count,” Mary said sadly. She took another sip of her drink. “I had hoped that no one else would find out about my past. I mean, Greg is a good man, but…the more people who know, the more people who are in danger.”

“I know,” Molly said. She squeezed Mary’s knee and then removed her hand. “When you’ve finished the drink go take a shower or a soak. Have you talked to John?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He knows. He’s keeping a close eye on Lillian, just in case.”

“Good. We’ll get you cleaned up and then we’ll go back to your home and we’ll see what’s going on with the case, if Sherlock and John are involved.” She gave Mary a small grin. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

“God, I hope so,” Mary said before having some more of her drink. Molly watched for a moment and then got up and went to the kitchen to pour herself a drink. This was all going to get quite complicated, she thought to herself. She just hoped no one else got hurt or killed before they helped settle matters for Mycroft and Anthea.


	9. Chapter 9

It seemed that the government stepped in and swept the murder of Mary’s friend under the rug, though Mycroft let them in on what he knew as it was worked on. It was perhaps for the best that none of them were personally involved in the investigation, Molly thought, because they were invested in it because of their association with Mary. But as a consequence Lestrade did find out the truth about Mary, as much as Molly seemed to know, at least. It didn’t appear to change his opinion of her, thankfully, and eventually life continued on.

Nearly three months into the wager Sherlock came bursting into the morgue. “I need access to the path lab,” he said without glancing at Molly. That was just the last straw for her; she was already having a rather horrendous day and that was just the tipping point into making it unbearable. She grit her teeth as he strode up to where she was hard at work beginning yet another autopsy that had been left behind for her because of the backlog.

“Hello, Molly. How are you today?” she said in a false baritone as she continued making her incisions in the body she was autopsying and he positioned himself across from her. “I'm doing well, thank you for asking, Sherlock. How are you?” she continued, using her regular voice. “Peachy. I need a favor. Could you get me access to the path lab for this very good reason?” she said in the false baritone. “I could, possibly, but don't you have a lab of your own that you use?” she finished in her own voice. Sherlock moved over to the other side of her body and looked at her for a moment. She didn't look up until she finished making the incision and then reached over for the bone saw. She saw he had a quizzical and faintly annoyed look on his face. “Try it again, Sherlock.”

“Hello, Molly. How are you today?” he asked, and she could tell he was trying not to take out his annoyance on her.

“It's been a bloody awful day, actually,” she said, giving him a stern look. “My water heater broke last night so I had to take an ice cold shower this morning, and then my brand new mobile got knocked out of my hand at the Underground station by my flat and now the screen is cracked. There's a backlog of fifteen bodies and I have three DIs breathing down my neck demanding I get theirs done first, I have a run in my stockings that I didn't notice until an impertinent nurse pointed it out as he was leering at my arse before making a grab at it, and I just found out my favorite Indian restaurant was shut down because of the health department so now I'm going to be stuck with Chinese for the fourth day in a row for lunch.” She then looked down at the body. “You?”

“I--” he began, but she turned on the bone saw. She began to cut through the sternum as Sherlock tried to speak for a moment and then stopped, watching her. When she was done she put the saw aside and then he spoke. “There's more to it, isn't there?” he asked.

She looked down, stilling in her movements. “Today was the day I was supposed to get married, the day Tom and I had picked out,” she said with a sigh. “It just...it would have to be _today_ that nothing could go right, you know? To just make it an even harder day to get through.”

“I see,” he said. He looked at his watch. “I would only need to use the lab for an hour. Two at most. If you'll give me access, I can perhaps help to make things a bit better?”

“How?” she asked warily.

“I have my ways,” he said, waving his hand. “Access to the lab for two hours at most in exchange for a better day. I expect you won't get a better offer than that. I'll even start by volunteering to deliver a stern word to the nurse before I begin to do what I need to do.”

She smiled despite her foul mood, something she hadn't expected to do at all that day. “There's no need, Sherlock. I very sweetly smiled at him after he made the grab for it before kneeing him in the groin and telling him I'd castrate him if he tried it again.”

He almost looked proud at that. “Good. I’d still like to have a chat with him, though,” he said.

“If you insist. It was Carter,” she replied.

He nodded. “All right then.”

She reached into her pocket and held up the keys to the lab. “Leave it as you found it, Sherlock, all right?”

“Thank you, Molly,” he said, coming to her side of the table. He took them from her, and then after a moment's hesitation he leaned over and kissed her cheek softly. “I am sorry you're having a bad day. I will try my best to improve it.”

She warmed slightly. “You don't really have to.”

“You are doing me an immense favor, so it's the least I can do in return,” he said as he moved away. “If you had plans tonight, cancel them, and don't leave the hospital until I come to get you.”

“My only plans where to drink too much wine and overindulge in all the bad for me fattening foods I could lay my hands on,” she said.

“Good. Those are the types of plans I'm glad to disrupt,” he said. “I will see you later tonight.” And with that, he left. She went back to her work, a smile on her face instead of a frown. She knew giving him access to the path lab meant he would be one step closer to solving whatever case he was working on, but Mary had let slip that John had said it was a very important case for his brother so she supposed sacrifices should be made, even with the wager. And she was supposedly getting an improved day out of it, which would be nice.

She didn't think about the failed engagement much these days. It had stung quite a bit more when it happened, when it had been nearer the holidays and she'd been surrounded by her friends who were in happy relationships and the general idea that Christmas was the season of peace, love and joy. All she'd wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide under a rock until February 15th at the very least. It had gotten worse when Sherlock had caused the scene in her lab. Their relationship – no, their friendship – had been so much better, so much warmer until Tom tried to get her to make major sacrifices and Sherlock apparently started his ploy with Janine. They'd gotten a bit distant, yes, but that moment in the lab had put a chasm between them as far as she was concerned. She'd have been quite happy if she never saw or spoke to Sherlock again, she’d decided that morning.

She almost got her wish, unfortunately, and that was when she realized just how foolish she'd been to be upset at something he'd said while he was strung out on drugs, or for the fact he'd been that way in the first place. And he had realized he'd made a mistake as well and asked for her forgiveness. The day before he was to board the plane he just asked to spend time with her, as much time as she could spare. She gave him the whole day and most of the night, staying up on the sofa late into the night, talking until she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. When she'd woken up in the morning her head was resting on a pillow and the quilt on the back of her sofa had been placed over her. There had been a new phone number for him in her mobile contacts, and she'd gotten the feeling she was maybe one of a handful of people to have it. She wasn't even sure John had it. And then she got ready for her post and went about her day until it all changed with one nationwide broadcast.

She had honestly spent more time worrying about Sherlock than focusing on her own sadness over being alone again. She had been so close to having what she had been sure she had always wanted only to realize it would have had so many strings attached that it wouldn't have been worth it at all, and that feeling had sucked the wind out of her sails, but worrying about Sherlock had given her something to occupy her time. Since the wager had begun, though, he seemed more like his normal self, and so the feelings of loneliness crept up more and more often these days, when she wasn't able to fill her life up with something else. And as today had gotten closer it had gotten worse. With everything going wrong today she'd just assumed it was penance for being selfish and wanting to be happy.

She continued to work until she heard the doors open a few hours later. She looked up and froze, wondering what on earth _she_ could want with _her_. “Hello,” she said warily to the woman coming in. “Were you looking for Sherlock?” she asked.

Janine shook her head. “Actually, I was looking for you, Molly. I could use your help.”

She hadn't started another autopsy quite yet, so there wasn't anything awkward that she was in the middle of, but this wasn't exactly the best place for Sherlock's apparent ex-paramour and her to talk, especially if it was about her other business. Her office would probably be much more appropriate. She stripped off her gloves and deposited them in the medical waste bin before gesturing to her office. “We can go in there,” she said. Janine nodded and then she opened the door and stepped inside. Molly took a deep breath and then followed a moment later. She offered the second char in the office to Janine and then sat down at the one in front of the computer. “How can I help you, Janine?”

“I know we aren't close. And I know because of my selling the story to the tabloids you probably want nothing to do with me, being one of Sherlock's best mates and all,” she said slowly. Molly was slightly surprised to be classified as one of Sherlock's best mates; she wondered idly at how long Janine had thought that. “But I got a note, and there's a threat in it. I would ask Sherlock to help, but...”

“Does it have to do with the fact that everything you told the tabloids is a lie?” Molly asked gently. “And that you feel just a wee bit guilty about it so you don't want to see Sherlock face to face?”

Janine's eyes widened, and then she relaxed slightly. “Oh, you're quite good.”

“Well, I can't take credit for the first part. Sherlock told me that himself a few months ago. But I read people well and I thought that might be why you didn't want to get his help. He would, though. Help you, I mean. He has no hard feelings. He has fond feelings towards you of a strictly friendly nature, I think.” She gave her a smile. “Do you have the note?”

Janine nodded. She reached into her handbag and then handed Molly an envelope. When she saw it she stilled. It was the same kind of envelope Anthea's note had come in. She had the feeling when she pulled out the note it would be on the same paper, with the same printer having been used. She pulled the note out and after a quick glance saw she was correct. “It was left at my cottage in Sussex. No one saw who left it, no one has any idea who would want to leave me unaddressed mail, but I knew it was bad news when I saw it.”

Molly settled in and looked at the note. _You lied about your liaison with Sherlock and you made a mint off of it. I think it's time for you to spread the wealth. You will transfer fifty thousand pounds to the bank account listed below by Saturday or proof that you lied will be given to the media and you will pay dearly._ “It's a rather empty threat,” Molly said, looking up. “It isn't as though there's a test to prove the two of you weren't intimate, and I'm sure he'll back up your version of events. I doubt the tabloids will insist either of you get hooked up to a lie detector machine for the absolute truth. Still, it _is_ a threat and shouldn't be taken lightly. I'll look into it, but only on one condition.”

“What is it?” Janine asked.

“I can share this with Sherlock,” she said, holding up the note. She was going to have to be a bit delicate with this. She didn't want Janine to know she knew exactly who delivered the threat already, at least until she knew the why and she could put a stop to it. But she'd need Sherlock's help with that, even if it didn't have to do with Moriarty. Irene was doing _something_ and it was tying directly into Sherlock now and he needed to be aware of it. “It affects him and he has a right to know.”

She thought it over for a moment and then sighed. “I suppose that's all right,” she said finally. “But thank you, Molly. I know you have no reason to help me. What are your fees?”

Molly waved her hand. “Don't worry about that. For the moment we'll forget about them, but if you still feel the need to pay me when this is all over then we'll talk.”

Janine flashed Molly a smile. “I appreciate it so much. Thank you, Molly. Really. You really are as good a person as Sherlock said you are.” She stood up and went to the door and then paused. “How is he?” she asked, the volume of her voice dropping slightly.

“Good, I suppose. He's not obsessing about Moriarty anymore, at least,” Molly said.

“He's taking care of himself?”

“Well enough,” Molly replied with a nod.

“And he's...?” she asked, trailing off.

“He's not seeing anyone, if that's what you want to know,” she said, a slight edge creeping into her voice. Dear God, where was that coming from? If an ex who really wasn't an ex wanted to fish for hints to see if he was actually pining after her or if it truly had all been an act, she had no reason to get jealous. She immediately brightened her countenance. “But he's happy enough, so there is that.”

“Good,” Janine replied. “I'm glad.” She gave Molly a warm smile. “Should I come here for updates?”

Molly stood up and went to her handbag, which was hanging on the peg under her coat. She fished out one of the business cards she had. “Either Mary or I will call you within twenty-four hours of you ringing us, I promise,” she said, handing the card to Janine.

“Thank you,” Janine said. She slipped the card into her handbag and then made her way out of the morgue towards the lift.

Molly went back to her seat and picked up a pen, absently tapping it for a moment. She should definitely contact Sherlock, but Mary needed to know too. She pulled her mobile out from her pocket, where she'd slipped it when the screen had cracked, and sighed as she gingerly tried to navigate her menu to get Mary's number. After a moment she gave up and went about using the phone on the desk. She dialed Mary's number and waited, and Mary picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” she asked.

“Mary, it's Molly,” she said.

“Are you all right? You never call me while you’re on your post.”

Molly tapped Janine’s letter on her desk, trying to figure out what to say. “Janine came by,” she said, deciding on just spitting out the truth. “Apparently Irene’s blackmail enterprise is growing. She sent Janine a note saying that she knows she lied about Sherlock.”

“What have Anthea’s information about sensitive state matters and Janine’s lies about being intimate with Sherlock got to do with each other?” Mary wondered.

“Aside from being related to the Holmes brothers?” Molly said. “Your husband was there when Sherlock met Irene for the first time. I asked him about it once. Apparently she was naked.”

“My husband’s seen Irene Adler naked?” Mary said. “And he didn’t tell me that?”

“To be fair, I don’t think he _wanted_ to,” she said. “But he said she was very interested in Sherlock. Like, _very_ interested.”

“Romantically or sexually?” Mary asked.

“Probably sexually, considering her reputation and…you know, _him_. And even now, I don’t think that’s changed. I’m starting to think our theory that she’s connected with whoever’s pulling strings as Moriarty might be more valid than ever,” she said. “We need to bring this up to him, all of it. Anthea’s computer being hacked, the note to Janine. I think he’s the lynchpin in all this and he needs to be made aware of it.”

“Well, perhaps this is a case we can all work on together,” Mary said thoughtfully. “I think we’re two up on them in the wager without counting Anthea’s case.”

Molly smiled to herself. “I already wasn’t counting this whole mess. We’re two up.”

“Good,” Mary said with a nod. “Why don’t you come over and show me the letter and we’ll see what we can do?”

“Could I do it tomorrow?” she asked. “Sherlock has something planned for this evening, since I’m letting him use the path lab and it’s been a rather rotten day.”

“Well, I can bring Lillian with me and we can stop by and bring you something for lunch, unless you’ve penciled him in for that as well?” Mary asked in a slightly teasing tone.

“So long as we don’t have Chinese,” she said.

“How about Indian? I know a great place near my home which makes an amazing curry. I can bring you something and we can eat in the office.”

“Oh, you’re a godsend. Thank you,” she said. “Give me an hour to do the paperwork I have for the last autopsy I did, all right?”

“We’ll be there in one hour, then,” Mary said before hanging up.

Molly tucked away her mobile again and settled in to do her paperwork, hoping no one came in to disturb her. Her luck almost held out until five minutes before Mary was to arrive, but she relaxed when she saw it was Sherlock. “You took more than two hours,” she said.

He handed her the keys to the path lab. “I decided to start on a surprise for you,” he said. “It took a bit of time, but it’s ready now.”

“Does it involve me going anywhere?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, but you need to give me your mobile.”

She gave him a strange look but took her mobile out again and handed it to him. “Can I ask why?”

“I need to have your SIM card transferred over to your new phone,” he said.

Her eyes got wide. “You got me a new phone?” she asked.

“ _I_ didn’t, exactly,” he said. “I mentioned it to Mycroft when I asked for help with something else and he said he would take care of it. Something about it being best if you had an encrypted phone anyway. It will be top of the line, better than what you had before. Probably better than what I have. But he needs the SIM card to transfer over the data from your phone. I suppose since he prefers you and has you and Mary work more cases for him than I do these days he wants something he can share certain documents over.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell him to give them back to you, if you want.”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “The only reason I took the one I have now is that I have a familiarity with the people involved. The less time I spend with my brother the better. If he trusts you and Mary for those types of cases then I’m glad for it.” He pocketed her mobile. “I’ll bring you your new phone in an hour or so.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. “And I need to talk to you. About two of my cases.”

“You need advice?” he asked, a slightly smug look on his face. “It might be cheating if I help.”

She shook her head. “We think they involve you.”

The smug look slowly disappeared. “How so?” he asked.

She bit her lip slightly. “Before the wager, when Mary and I first started, Anthea came to me. She apparently has an open relationship with someone you’ve dealt with before, someone who has a history of blackmailing people. Someone who’s supposed to be dead.”

Sherlock sighed. “Irene Adler, I presume.”

Molly nodded. “One night after they were together, while Anthea was asleep, Irene accessed her laptop and phone and got information that is rather important to the government. A note was delivered to Anthea shortly after Mary and I were asked to look into it saying that the information was being held onto in case a wrong move was made. Nothing else has been sent since.” Then she handed Sherlock Janine’s letter. “Roughly an hour ago Janine showed up with this. It’s the same envelope, same disguised handwriting on the envelope, same paper, and I’d bet it’s the same printer used for the actual note.”

“Janine came to you?” he asked with some surprise, taking the letter from her.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” she said. “I thought she didn’t want to have much to do with Mary after everything that happened with Magnussen, and it’s well known we work together. I was surprised she didn’t bring this to your attention, but she seemed to not want to bother you.”

“Our last conversation was rather bittersweet,” he murmured as he pulled the letter out of the envelope and scanned it. Then he looked at Molly. “And you think Irene is the one who sent it?”

“I can compare the two letters and envelopes scientifically but to the naked eye they seem the same,” she said with a nod as the morgue doors opened.

“I’ll tell Janine not to pay and if allegations come forth that Janine lied I’ll say she told the truth,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “What happened in the privacy of our homes can’t be proven one way or the other, so it’s our word against a blackmailer’s, even if we are lying.” He slipped the letter back into the envelope and was about to speak when the office door opened. Mary came in, pushing Lucille’s pram and carrying a bag of food. “Your timing is impeccable.”

“Good to see you too, Sherlock,” Mary said with a grin. Then she turned to Molly. “I take it you told him already?”

She nodded. “He’s going to tell Janine not to pay.

“Good. We might not be as close as we were but I don’t like seeing someone try to extort money from a friend.”

Sherlock nodded and then turned back to Molly. “You think there’s more, though.”

“I know you’ve stopped obsessing about whoever’s posing as Moriarty as much, and I’m glad for that, but what if Irene is just a middleman in all this?” she said slowly. “What if she’s doing it for the person who’s doing the posing?”

“That’s an interesting angle to check into,” Mary said, putting the bag of food on Molly’s desk. “Maybe Irene is being coerced into going back to her old ways because _her_ secret’s been found out, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said. “I suppose you want my help in this?”

“If you don’t mind?” Molly asked. “I mean, if it does concern you, or people connected to _him_ , I thought you’d want to be a part of it.”

“I do,” he said. “Do you have the letter from Anthea as well?”

“It’s at home,” Molly said.

“Then after I help to brighten your day we can go to your home and I’ll collect it to examine,” he said. He held up Janine’s letter. “May I keep this for the time being?”

“Of course,” Molly said with a nod.

“I’ll be back in an hour with your phone, and then later for our plans,” he said, moving around the pram to get to the door. “Remember, don’t leave until I arrive.”

“I won’t,” Molly said. He left the office and Molly looked to the food, opening up packages. “Oh, this smells divine.”

“I’ve eaten Indian enough times with you to know your usual,” Mary said with a smile. She handed Molly a fork. “Maybe we’ll actually get somewhere with this now that Sherlock’s taken an interest in it.”

“Hopefully,” she said, digging into the chicken curry. “Did you find out anything about our supposedly already dead victim on the other case?”

“I found out a few things that could be useful, since you got me pictures from the first autopsy,” Mary said with a smile, going to her handbag and pulling out a notebook. They went over their current case, where a homicide victim of Dimmock’s had already been declared dead. Obviously it was a case of stolen identity, but figuring out which of the two dead people was _actually_ the real person and which was the identity thief had been harder than they had thought. But with Mary’s research it looked as though they’d have an answer for Dimmock when Molly went over both autopsy reports again. Once that was done Mary looked at Molly. “Your day seems to be going differently than you’d expected.”

“Started off horrible, got strange, then better,” Molly said with a nod.

“Sherlock seems adamant he’s going to cheer you up,” she said with a smile.

“I suppose because we tried so hard to cheer him up and take care of him,” Molly said in response. “When he was obsessing about Moriarty and all that.”

“I think it’s rather sweet of him,” she said. “Which is not a word I would really use to describe Sherlock often. Sometimes when he’s around Lucille, perhaps, but mostly when he’s around you.”

“I don’t think he acts differently around me,” she said, looking down.

“Molly, you really don’t see that he obviously adores you?” Mary asked, tilting her head. 

“He does not adore me,” Molly said. “We’re friends. Good friends, but there is no adoration.”

Mary shook her head. “Oh, one day the two of you are going to realize that you are both perfectly suited for each other and the rest of the world is going to go ‘Finally.’”

“I gave up on that a long time ago,” Molly said, jabbing at her food harder than she should have.

“All right then. See it your way,” Mary said.”But when it happens, I’m going to say I told you so until you’re both sick of hearing it.” She gathered up her trash and Molly’s trash as well and tossed it in the rubbish bin. “I have some more research to do but I’ll call Dimmock and tell him what we know and he can start sorting things out on his end. See you later, love.”

“Bye,” Molly said, looking down at the last of her food. Sherlock didn’t adore her. He might be _fond_ of her, she’d give him that, but he didn’t _adore_ her. And they weren’t perfect for each other. She’d accepted long ago that they would never be good together romantically. There would just be too much hassle, and they were the opposite of each other in so many fundamental ways, and it would just never work. She told herself that, and most days she even really believed it.

When she was done with the last of her food she tossed the waste away and went back to work. Sherlock didn’t bring her phone in an hour like he said he would, but she assumed he got caught up in the new case she’d given him. So long as he didn’t leave her at St. Bart’s all night she was fine. She had his mobile number memorized so she could call him if she needed to. She finished her shift and had gone into her office to gather her things when the doors opened to the morgue. A moment later the office door opened and Sherlock stood there, looking almost nervous. “So my plans fell through,” he said. “The ones I made for you. We may have to resort to actually spending the evening at your flat working.”

She gave him a smile. “It seems to be the day for that,” she said. “What were the plans?”

“Dinner at Pied a Terre and a play, but when my brother found out I’d been told about the Irene situation he asked that I make it a priority.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “The thought really does count in this case.”

“I will make it up to you,” he said. “After all, I did promise to make your day better and I didn’t do it.”

She came over and kissed his cheek softly. “You tried, though. That’s important.” She went to pull away but he reached over for her and she stilled. “Sherlock?”

He appeared to be trying to figure out what to say. It was a very rare occasion when he was speechless. “You are important,” he said. “In my life, I mean. I don’t think I would be as good a person as I try to be if you weren’t in my life. But I don’t always treat you well. I ignore you, I’ve spoken down to you and belittled you, and I’ve said things that have hurt you. And I want to apologize.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “You aren’t that way often, and you tend to try and make things right sooner rather than later when you do slip up.”

“Is it enough, though?” he asked.

She nodded. “It is. I promise.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as though he was debating something, and then he let her go. “I’m glad,” he said quietly. He took a step back. “I did get a few things settled today. The water heater has been replaced, and Carter won’t be a bother anymore.”

“He isn’t dead, is he?” she asked warily.

“No. Merely incapacitated,” he said. “But I think he learned his lesson about groping women who do not want to be groped well.” 

“Good.” She reached for her coat. “So, should we be off?” she asked. He nodded, and as she slipped her coat on she studied him. Something had almost happened, she was sure of it. She wasn’t sure what he had thought about doing or saying, but she had the feeling it would have been something major. Perhaps he might tell her some day. She rather hoped he would, and sooner rather than later.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock was actually quite attentive the evening at her home when they worked on the blackmail cases together, she realized. When they had gotten to her home she’d placed an order for delivery for them with a company that delivered all sorts of different foods, and he paid for it without being asked, got the eating utensils and the cups for the drinks, cleaned up after the both of them…he was the perfect houseguest, which he had never been before. She rather hoped if they had other nights like this, where they had to work together, it was like this.

They stayed up late but eventually she needed to get some sleep since she had a shift at the hospital the next day. He said he’d lock up when he left but she insisted he stay put and take her guest bedroom, or at the very least her sofa. She further sweetened the offer by offering to cook for him in the morning, and even though it would mean less sleep it would be nice. It had been a very long time since she’d had someone there in the morning, and she’d missed that. Finally he’d agreed, and so she’d gone to bed for the night, hoping her home was in one piece in the morning.

She woke up to sounds of movement at her bedroom door, and she sat up in bed while reaching for the tazer she had under her pillow. _Technically_ she wasn’t supposed to have one but Mycroft had given it to her when she started working for him so she assumed it would be all right if she kept it at her home. The door finally opened and she saw Sherlock trying not to trip over Toby as he carried in a tray. “I was supposed to cook for you,” she said, sliding her hand out from under her pillow.

“I didn’t actually cook,” he said. “This is just coffee and the morning paper. There was a pertinent article I thought you might want to read.”

“So I still get to cook,” she said.

“I know how to make pancakes, if you can trust me not to burn down your kitchen or blacken your cookware,” he said.

“I trust you a great deal, Sherlock,” she said as he set the tray on her lap and then sat down by her legs. She picked up the mug of coffee and took a sip. A bit stronger than she would have liked, but he’d added a heavy amount of her flavored creamer and at least a spoonful of sugar to compensate for that. It was a decent cup of coffee. She pulled a hand away from the mug and picked up the paper. “What article am I supposed to read?”

“This one,” he said, taking the paper and flipping it over before pointing at an article. The headline read ‘Information Leaked To WikiLeaks About Secret Government Prisoner Deal.’ She skimmed over the article. “My brother said only ten people in the world had information about that meeting and Anthea was one of them. He wants us to find out if the leak is retaliation for something that may have been done.”

“If the leak is even Irene’s doing,” Molly said before having some more of her coffee. “I’m assuming Mycroft is one of the other people to have the information so that leaves eight other people who could have leaked the information aside from the two of them and Irene. We need to find out if one of them leaked it first. Did your brother tell you who the other people were?”

“No,” Sherlock said.

“Well, if he won’t tell you then maybe he’ll tell me, or Anthea could tell me. Then Mary can look into it. This is something she can do from home. I can take over the work on Dimmock’s case, if he still needs us,” she said. She looked over at Sherlock and gave him an encouraging smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

“And how will you get him to tell you?” he asked.

“I’ll just ask nicely,” she said.

“When I ask nicely he doesn’t do things for me,” he said.

“When do you ever ask your brother for things nicely?” she asked, chuckling a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of you act nice towards each other.”

Sherlock didn’t laugh. “He likes you,” he said quietly.

Molly caught his face and frowned. “You don’t think he _fancies_ me, do you, Sherlock?” she asked. “He doesn’t. He knows I can be useful to him, and I’m more useful if I’m treated with kindness and respect, so he treats me accordingly. But he doesn’t _like_ me like me. I don’t even think he’d consider us friends. And besides, even if he was attracted to me, he’s not my type.”

“I see,” he said.

She studied him for a moment and then set the coffee on the nightstand before moving the tray off her lap. “Sherlock…are you jealous? That he likes me more than you?”

“Not exactly,” he said.

“Then what is it, exactly?” she asked tentatively

He looked down. “I was jealous because I thought he fancied you, and I thought he thought you might fancy him back. And I was worried I was right.”

After a moment of surprise that he was jealous, that he thought she might actually have romantic feelings for his brother, she slowly reached over and tilted his face towards hers so he was looking at her. “I do not fancy Mycroft, Sherlock. I never have. I never will,” she said softly, caressing his cheek gently.

“And what about me?” he asked.

“I’ve fancied you for a long time, even when everyone told me it wasn’t worth it. Even when I shouldn’t have, when I was supposed to have given all of my heart to someone else,” she said. “And I would probably still care for you even if you didn’t feel the same way about me for a long, long time. But somehow, I think you do.”

He nodded just slightly, and then reached over for her, pulling her out from beneath her bedding to be closer to him. He settled a hand on her waist and the other near her cheek, his fingers in her hair. “I’m no prize. I’ve never had a real relationship. I’m not good at caring about others most of the time. I could still hurt you. But I will try hard to make you happy.”

“That’s all I could ask for, Sherlock,” she said, leaning in more, not caring about the fact she was in her pyjamas. She just wanted to kiss him, to share a real kiss with him, and when she pressed her lips against his and he kissed her back she felt as though she was in the middle of a fireworks display. Oh, it was an exquisite kiss, and soon enough he deepened it, letting his tongue dart to her lips before she opened her mouth to him. He pulled her as close as he could and they shifted to a position where they could be comfortable without breaking the kiss.

They only separated with the greatest reluctance when she needed to catch her breath, and she stayed close, pressing her forehead to his and wrapping her arms around his neck. “That was an exquisite kiss,” he said

“It was,” she said. “I definitely imagined it would be like that.”

“As did I, though under slightly different circumstances,” he said, running a hand up her back to keep her close. 

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Breakfast first, perhaps with some more of that afterward,” he said. “And then we get down to business. I would suggest you call in sick today.”

“I don’t think my superiors would be happy,” she said with a frown.

“Mycroft can tell them it’s a matter of national security, and I doubt they’ll argue with him,’’ he said.

She thought about it a moment. It might not hurt to spend the day working on the case. If nothing else spending a whole day on it now could help keep it from becoming an international nightmare later. “I think I can agree to that, but with one change,” she said. 

“What change would that be?” he asked.

“We can have breakfast wait a while,” she said before she kissed him again. It would just be kisses for now, and she was fine with that, but the fact that he kissed her back meant he agreed with her change in plans, and it was definitely a better start to her day than she could ever have imagined.


	11. Chapter 11

It was Molly’s day off from Bart’s and she and Mary had been asked quite politely by DI Dimmock to come take a look at his crime scene since Sherlock was busy looking into something that might apply to the Irene Adler case. There had been silence in the weeks since the deadline for Janine to pay the blackmail had passed, both in the blackmail case as well as in the matter of the leak in confidential details of the meeting. Mary had spoken with one of her contacts and they’d managed to fob suspicion for the leak off on a hacking group with a grudge, and said group was more than happy to take the credit for the leak. For now, Anthea’s secret was safe.

“So it was all supposed to be a prank to scare the two fresher pledges into the secret society at this campus,” Dimmock said to Molly as they ducked under the crime scene tape strung between two trees at Hyde Park. Mary followed them a moment later. “There was going to be a game of Russian roulette. The victim, Fredelyn Doeppner, loaded the gun but supposedly palmed the bullet. One was found in her coat pocket.” He checked his notes. “Terri Penton checked the gun and swore there was no bullets in it, but when Fredelyn put it to her head and pulled the trigger she shot herself.”

“There could have been one in the chamber,” Mary said. “Is the gun still here?”

Dimmock nodded. “The scene is still as complete as I could keep it. That’s the way Holmes works. You two work that way too, right?”

“Not really,” Molly said with a smile. “We usually work from photos and notes, and I autopsy the bodies and glean what I can from them. So this is a treat, in a way.”

“What is Holmes up to, anyway?” he asked.

“A case for his brother,” Mary said, glancing at Molly, who gave her a slight nod. “It’s quite important. But we can handle this.” They got to the body and Mary knelt down next to it. They had been given gloves before they entered the scene and Mary motioned to the gun next to the victim. “May I?”

Dimmock nodded. “Yes. The photographers have been through already.”

Mary picked up the gun and studied it. “A Russian Nagant M1895 revolver,” she said, looking it over. “According to folklore, this is one of the most popular guns used in Russian roulette.”

“How did the girls get the gun?” Molly asked, squatting down to study the body. She looked at the wound at the victim’s temple.

“Family heirloom of…” Dimmock studied his notes again. “Miranda Bailey. One of the upperclassmen involved in the prank.”

“Who handled the gun?” Mary asked.

“Miranda, Terri and Fredelyn,” Dimmock said. 

“Were either Miranda or Terri upset with Fredelyn?” Molly asked, looking up at Dimmock.

“Still need to look into that,” Dimmock said.

“Well, I’m looking at this gun and I can’t see one bullet having been in the chamber without them realizing it,” Mary said. “See, in Russian roulette, only one chamber is loaded. Because of this, there is a one in seven chance of hitting the loaded chamber. Now, normally, in a well maintained weapon with just one round inside, the full chamber in going to end up near the bottom because the axis isn't vertical, and that alters the odds in the favor of the player. That's thanks to gravity." She paused. "However, this does only apply to revolvers with swing-out cylinders, and it's only valid if that cylinder is spun outside of the revolver. It's also got to come to a complete stop _before_ it gets locked back in."

“What are you saying?” Dimmock asked slowly.

“I’m saying,” Mary said, standing up, “that you might want to find out if the gun’s been tampered with, and exactly how Miranda and Terri felt towards Fredelyn, and whether there was any chance Terri might have slipped a bullet in without Fredelyn realizing it.” She handed the gun to Dimmock and then nodded towards Molly. “Do you want to do the autopsy, love?”

Molly shook her head. “No, cause of death is pretty self explanatory. Though…it looks as though she was shot with a blank.”

“Can that kill someone?” Dimmock asked, surprised.

Molly nodded. “In the right circumstances, and if it’s been tampered with. You should have it checked out.”

“I will,” he said with a nod. “Thank you for your help. If I need any more, I’ll contact you.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Mary said, moving next to Molly as the two women left the crime scene. She turned to Molly as they walked out of the grove of trees. “How much do you want to bet the two girls set it up to murder Fredelyn for some painfully stupid reason?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Molly said with a sigh. “I just want to go home and curl up with a glass of wine and some takeaway.”

“And maybe a rather handsome boyfriend, if he can tear himself away from his inquiries into the case?” Mary teased.

Molly blushed slightly. “Maybe,” she said with a shy smile.

“You know, I really am glad the two of you finally went and _did_ something about the fact you’re perfect for each other,” she said with a smile. “I mean, you aren’t too public about your relationship, but it’s nice to see when John and I see the two of you together. Did you know John said he actually caught Sherlock trying to write poetry recently?”

Molly’s smile got a bit wider at that. “Oh, that will be interesting.”

“I think inside that very beautiful brain and handsome physique of his lies a very tender heart, and I think it’s all yours,” she said. “You’re a very lucky woman that way.”

“I suppose,” Molly replied. “What are your plans?”

“Curl up on the sofa with my husband and enjoy some quality time together if our very vocal daughter will sleep for a few hours,” Mary said with a grin. “Maybe I’ll even get the chance to fool around a little bit.”

“Well, good luck to you,” Molly said. “I think you deserve it.”

“Oh, I certainly do. And you deserve some Adler-free time with your beau, so I hope you get it.” 

They stayed quiet for a few moments as they walked and then Mary brought up a new topic, and they talked about that as they made their way out to where Mary had parked her car. She drove Molly home first and Molly let herself into her flat. She was quite surprised to smell food when she walked in. “Hello?” she called out warily.

“Just me,” Sherlock called back. “In the kitchen.”

She relaxed. They’d only really been dating for a few weeks now, and she’d loosened her restrictions on him letting himself into her flat. She hadn’t expected him to get her food, though, so that was a nice surprise. She made her way further in and her eyes widened. He was standing in front of her stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cooking something. “You’re actually cooking,” she said.

“Yes, I _can_ do that,” he said, an amused grin on his face. “Despite what John says.”

“What are you making?” she asked, coming around and kissing his cheek.

“Pan seared chicken with mushrooms and au gratin potatoes with mashed peas,” he said. “Not a spectacular meal, but…”

“No, it sounds good,” she said with a smile. “Any reason why you’re cooking? Was there progress on the case?”

He shook his head. “I just felt it would be a good idea to spend time together, and I thought you’d like to not have to deal with the aggravation of cooking or waiting for takeaway after dealing with Dimmock.”

“And this is why I like you so much,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry there were no leads. I know we need them.”

“I suppose it’s in keeping with all of this,” he said. “But I’ll keep digging.”

She nodded and then went to her refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Would you like a glass?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Water is fine.” He glanced over at her. “Was the case easy?”

Molly went to her cupboard and then pulled down a wineglass before opening the bottle and pouring herself a glass. “It seems open and shut. I doubt we’ll be needed.”

“So a two, like I suspected,” he said.

“I suppose,” she said with a nod. “I doubt it will count towards the wager.”

“We could put the wager on hold,” he said after a moment.

“Not on your life!” she replied with a grin. “I need something to motivate me.”

He shook his head, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. “I think the fact that you enjoy your side career is motivation enough.”

“Well, I suppose,” she said. “But it would be nice to beat you at something at least once.”

“We’re tied right now,” he said. “And that includes counting this case.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to work harder,” Molly said, grinning at him. He grinned back and then turned back to the food. She leaned against the counter and took a sip of her wine as she watched him work. She could get used to this, she thought, cozy evenings like this. She could definitely get used to this.


	12. Chapter 12

“I need your help.”

Molly looked up from the book she was reading. Sherlock had invited her over, but he had been focused on his case wall when she arrived, and so she sat down at the kitchen table and pulled her book out of her handbag to read. She’d been contemplating putting on the kettle to make them some tea when he finally spoke to her. She set her book down after marking her place in it. “What type of case is it?”

“You’ve heard of the case against Reginald Eisenhart?” he asked, not looking away from the wall.

She got up from her seat and moved to his seat, sitting on the arm of his chair. “Yes,” she said. “It’s all the papers have been talking about for weeks. He’s one of the last of Moriarty’s henchmen to be brought to justice.”

He nodded. “I was supposed to testify today, to expound upon the information Mycroft and I gave to Scotland Yard when I faked my death and the assistance I gave in bringing him down. But when I arrived, we were told a juror was missing, nowhere to be found, and that the trial had been postponed.” He looked up at her. “I have been asked to assist in finding her, but I’ve been staring at the information for hours and I’m at a loss.”

Molly tilted her head. “So this doesn’t count towards the wager?” she asked.

“I’d say not,” he said. “If it did count for both of us we’d still be tied regardless, though.”

“So you’re giving up a chance to beat me?” she asked.

“Well, I want the last of Moriarty’s web swept away and rotting in jail,” he said. “I’m willing to sacrifice the wager to make that happen.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. “So, what do you know?”

Sherlock stood up and went to the wall above the sofa, hopping up on it and pulling down a photo. He got off the sofa and handed it to her. Molly looked down and saw a stern looking but attractive woman with ginger hair and green eyes hidden behind spectacles. “Her name is Chelsea Fitzgerald. She is 36, a vice president of operations with an advertising firm in London, single with a long standing affair with the president of operations. She snuck out of the hotel where the jury has been sequestered at some point between midnight and two AM, when a fire alarm was set off and a head count was taken. “

Molly set the photograph down on the table and then went up to the case wall. On the wall were layouts of the hotel, the specific room Chelsea was staying in, photographs of the other jurors, information on all of them…she turned back to Sherlock. “Have you asked your brother for help on this?”

He shook his head. “He won’t help me.”

“But he’ll help me,” Molly said thoughtfully. “He’s said I could have favors. I could use one, see what information he could get on the woman who vanished, the other jurors, anything else that might help.”

“You would use one of your favors on this?” he asked, looking up at her.

She nodded. “You’re giving up a chance to beat me for the wager,” she said. “It’s the least I can do.”

He gave her a small grin and then stood up, moving closer to her and caressing her cheek. “I appreciate it,” he murmured before leaning in and kissing her softly. She reached forward and grasped his shirt, lightly clutching it in her grip. She enjoyed every kiss they shared, mostly because she never thought they would never have happened. The fact that he _did_ kiss her, that he cared for her, that he wanted to spend time with her…she considered herself extremely lucky.

When they were done he rested his head against hers and she smiled widely. “Let me go call Mycroft,” she said, pulling away from him. She went to her handbag and got out her mobile and dialed Mycroft’s number. He picked up after two rings. “Mycroft, I need to call in one of my favors.”

“Are you assisting in Sherlock’s case locating the missing juror?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. 

Mycroft paused. “Are you sure you want to use a favor for this?” he asked.

“Yes, Mycroft, I’m sure,” she said. “I’ll still have two other favors, remember?”

“All right,” he said. “Tell Sherlock that in three to four hours he’ll have all the intelligence we have on everyone involved in this.”

“Thank you,” she said. She hung up on Mycroft, one of the few times she’d ever done that, and then turned to Sherlock. “In three to four hours you’ll have everything Mycroft knows.”

“Which means hours of data to go through,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I need to get a change of scenery before I have to sit down and sort through it.”

“We could go out,” she said. “Maybe catch a film, get a meal?”

“Like…an actual date?” he asked, his eyes getting a little wide.

She nodded. “If you want to, I mean. We don’t have to. I know you’ve been trying to keep things quiet.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen in public with me?” he asked quietly, looking down.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, shocked he’d even consider that she wouldn’t want to be seen with him. She reached over and tilted his face up so he was looking at her. “Sherlock…I care about you, greatly. I don’t care who sees us together. I’m very proud to say I’m your girlfriend.”

He gave her a small smile, one that she might say seemed very pleased. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers brush across her cheek. “All right. Let’s go out on a date.”

She smiled at him widely and then leaned in and kissed him softly. “Okay. Maybe we can go see what’s around here?” she asked when she pulled away.

“That sounds good,” he said. She went back to her handbag and grabbed it, and the two of them left Baker Street to go out. They settled on lunch at Angelo’s and a film nearby the restaurant. Molly noticed a few people taking pictures with their mobiles, and as they exited the cinema she thought she saw a few more professional photographers about. She had the sinking suspicion the general public would be well aware of their relationship fairly soon. 

They made their way back to Baker Street where sitting on the kitchen table were stacks and stacks of files and photographs. She looked at the piles of information. “That is a lot to sort through,” she said with wide eyes.

“Do you feel like helping me go through all of this?” he asked, turning to her.

She nodded, setting her handbag on the kitchen worktop. “I’ll make us some coffee while you start sorting things out,” she said. He flashed her an appreciative smile and she gave him one back before turning to the coffeemaker. It was going to be a long night, but if they could make some progression the case it would all be worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

Molly wasn’t quite pleased with the attention being put upon her and her relationship with Sherlock, but it wasn’t too bad, which surprised her. There were a few things in the tabloids, speculations on her and the exact nature of their relationship in the days following their first actual public date, and there was another flurry of activity after someone snapped a picture of them kissing outside of her home. It seemed to die down when it was replaced with a scandal involving the bad boy in the biggest boy band in the UK, though, and she was grateful for that.

It had been just over two weeks after that date when the two of them came back to her flat, trying to beat the rain that was threatening to fall. They got to the door and he pulled her close before she could unlock it. “Sherlock, it could start raining any minute,” she said with a laugh.

“I thought all women dreamed about being kissed in the rain,” he said, leaning in closer to her.

“Well, the rain is cold, and it drips in uncomfortable places, and it requires a hot shower or a long soak to properly warm up,” she said. 

“Or sitting in front of a fireplace with a quilt and a pot of tea,” he said.

“Are you trying to purposefully get us caught in the rain?” she asked, reaching forward to play with the collar of his shirt as she grinned at him.

“Well, I’ve thought you might appreciate a rather romantic moment like that,” he said, moving his hands to cup her face.

“If I get pneumonia then you have to take care of me,” she murmured. “Wait on me hand and foot.”

“Deal,” he said before closing the gap between them and kissing her.

She grinned into the kiss and slid her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to get closer to him. After a few minutes she felt a few drops of rain fall on her head and then pulled away as one landed on her nose. “Mmm, I’m changing my mind on this. But we can still sit in front of the fire with the quilt and tea and get nice and cozy.”

“So long as you stay close,” he said, letting her go. She pulled her arms away from his neck and then turned to the door. She glanced down to pull her keys out of her handbag and then frowned before kneeling down and picking up a letter. She glanced at the familiar looking envelope and felt a pit in her stomach. “I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.”

The good mood had left Sherlock’s face at that point. She handed him the letter and then dug out her keys and let them inside. Once they got inside her sitting room he tried to hand it to her but she shook her head, sitting down on the sofa. After a moment he sat down next to her and opened the letter, pulling it out. “You shouldn’t have started a relationship with Sherlock Holmes,” he read. “If you don’t end it, you’ll regret it.” He lowered it and then leaned back into the sofa, running a hand over his face. “I do not understand her obsession with me.”

“Well, you’re very attractive and very appealing,” Molly said, turning to face him. “And I think she sees you as a conquest she never made and is still determined to have. So…an obsession makes sense.”

He was quiet for a moment. “If she’s involved with whoever is pulling the strings as Moriarty she could have quite a bit of power behind a threat like this,” he said. “Just because nothing happened when Janine refused to pay doesn’t mean something couldn’t happen to you. If she’s obsessed, she could go to any lengths to get rid of you.”

“I don’t think she’ll do anything,” Molly said. “But what did you have in mind to stop her?”

“How would you feel about going to Baker Street?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I know you want to keep me safe, but I don’t want to leave my home. I’m not about to let Irene run me out of here. I don’t care how much power she might have at her fingertips or what she thinks she can do to me.”

“Then I’ll stay here,” he said with a slight shrug.

She stared at him for a moment. “You’ll just move in here with me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Temporarily, of course,” he said. “Until we can make sure Irene doesn’t actually pose a threat to you.”

She studied him closely and then reached over for his hand. “You really want to keep me safe, don’t you?” she asked, running her thumb over his knuckles.

“You are very important to me,” he said quietly. “You are more important to me than most of the people I’m close to. I care for you very much. I don’t…” He gripped her hand more tightly. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you. I don’t want to find out, either.”

She nodded and moved closer to him. “All right. You can stay here. But you don’t get to stay in my bedroom again, unless you plan on sharing my bed with me.”

“Are you expecting anything to happen?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I mean, unless you _want_ something to happen. I just…I wouldn’t mind not sleeping alone. I’ve rather missed sharing a bed with someone, even if it’s just to sleep.”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing your bedroom, then,” he said. “We should probably head back to Baker Street so I can get some things.”

She nodded. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I mean, you can always go back and get things if you need to, but it doesn’t hurt to have things here. And…maybe you could keep some of them here, if you want. Afterward, I mean.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that,” he said with a small grin. He let go of her hand and then stood up. “If we go now we might beat most of the rain, since I doubt either of us are in the mood to reenact any famous kissing in the rain scenes now.”

“Well, if we do get caught, there’s still warming up in front of the fireplace,” she said as she stood up. “I wouldn’t mind doing that.”

“Then we can plan on that regardless,” he said. He offered her his hand and she took it, grasping it tightly. This was a surprising turn, though she really should have expected it, she realized. Irene was very much obsessed with Sherlock, and anyone that got in her way was going to be a target. She shouldn’t have thought she’d be any different. Hopefully Sherlock could keep her safe by sticking close.


	14. Chapter 14

The sound of a ringing mobile woke Molly up a week and a half after Sherlock moved into her flat. Not her mobile, though; she recognized the ringtone as the one he had for his brother. It was the crescendo of Edvard Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain King” and it was quite loud as it went off. Her eyes snapped open as Sherlock removed his arm from her waist. He turned to the nightstand on his side and picked up his mobile, answering it. “Yes, brother mine?”

Molly sat up and looked over at Sherlock. It appeared Mycroft was doing most of the talking. He hung up after a few moments and then turned to her. “What happened?” she asked

“Chelsea Fitzgerald’s body was found in the Queen’s Garden at Kew Gardens. Mycroft was alerted the minute the anonymous call was made to 999,” he said. “Lestrade is going to call any minute to tell me to meet him there.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’d like to know what you can observe from the scene,” he said. He turned and set his feet on the floor on his side of the bed. “I know it’s quite early. You probably wanted to sleep more.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Do we have enough time for me to make us some coffee before we go? I don’t know if anything is open right now.”

“We have some time,” he said with a nod. “But I’ll go make it. You get dressed while I wait for us to be formally invited to the scene.”

“All right,” she said. He stood up and made his way out of her bedroom, and after a few moments she got out of her bed and went to her clothes. It wasn’t light out yet which meant it would be cold, so she put on a long sleeved T-shirt and denim trousers, and then grabbed a jumper as well. She pulled it on and then headed towards the kitchen to see how to coffee was going. Sherlock was on the phone again. She gathered this time it was with Lestrade. He was ending the conversation when she got close. Lestrade must have called right as he started because the coffee was out but not set up in the coffeemaker. He hung up and gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll do this. You get dressed.”

“I hadn’t expected him to call quite so quickly,” he’d said. “The water is already in.”

She nodded and then began measuring out the coffee as he went to her bedroom to change. She hadn’t actually lived with anyone else before; she’d moved into this place when she was in uni, financed by the money her father left her, and lived on her own ever since. Tom had wanted separate homes until after they got married, so other than him staying over for a weekend, or her staying at his place, she didn’t live with him. This was the first time she’d ever actually had someone share her space for more than a couple of days and she found that while it was taking some getting used to it was rather nice. Even though it should have felt rushed, what with not having been dating Sherlock for long, she found she felt quite comfortable having him around. It was going to be strange when he didn’t have a reason to be there anymore.

The coffee was nearly ready by the time he was done getting dressed. He came out and opened her refrigerator to see if there was food they could eat on the go, and then shut it again after a moment. “If something is open on the way back I’ll buy you breakfast,” he said.

“Chances are you’ll have to just bring me something at the hospital,” she said with a small grin. “I think Lestrade is going to want his best pathologist on this, since I’m already involved in the case and I have to be at work in…” She glanced at her wrist. “Three hours anyway.”

“So you’ll demand the body?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m head of the department. I can pull strings.” The coffee finished and she pulled down two travel mugs, pouring coffee into each one. She added sugar to one of them, put the lid on and then handed it to Sherlock, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out sweetened creamer and took it to her coffee, pouring it in. When she was done she put the creamer back and then picked up her coffee after fixing the lid. “All right. Let’s head out.”

Sherlock nodded and they left her home, heading out to the street. There were cabs out and Sherlock hailed one and they both got in, heading to Kew Gardens. When they got there they made their way to the Queen’s Garden. Molly had always loved going there, enjoying the plants and the unique labeling system. They made their way to the gazebo on the mound in the gardens, which was roped off with police tape. Sally stood nearby, chatting with someone. She pulled herself away when she saw them approach. “Molly. Bit of a surprise seeing you here.”

“She’s assisting me with the case,” Sherlock said quietly.

Sally frowned. “I thought John Watson did that.”

“He was a bit preoccupied at the time,” Sherlock said with a slight shrug. “And Molly thought Lestrade might want her to perform the autopsy.”

“He’d probably prefer that,” Sally said with a nod. “This one…I’ve seen some things, but this one is one of the weird ones. Seems like she’s been frozen.”

Molly gave her a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“You know how sometimes if you leave meat in the freezer too long it gets burnt? She sort of looks like that,” Sally said. She nodded to the area inside the crime scene tape. A technician handed Sherlock and Molly gloves, and then they followed Sally under the rope. Sally watched as Molly squatted down next to the body. “And her hair looks like it’s snapped off in places, or been hacked off.”

“You have keen eyes, Donovan,” Sherlock murmured as he squatted down on the side opposite of Molly and studied the body. “She has indeed been frozen.”

“That’s going to make time of death harder, but not impossible,” Molly said, carefully moving the body. “I definitely need to be the one to take this case. I’ve dealt with this before.” Then she paused. “Sherlock, didn’t the initial report on her disappearance say her mobile was missing?”

He nodded. “It was assumed she’d taken it with her,” he said.

“Well, it’s here,” she said, lifting it up. “And it certainly wasn’t frozen.”

Lestrade came over to the three of them as Sherlock took the phone. “What kind of mess did she get herself into?” he asked.

Sherlock scrolled through incoming calls and then paused. “Very troubling matters,” he said quietly, turning the phone to Molly. “Does that number look familiar to you?”

Molly’s eyes widened. “The information Mary’s contact got to her, before she was murdered. She said that was a phone number Irene was known to have used, but hadn’t touched for some time.”

“Wait a minute,” Lestrade said, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me the case that the government shooed me away from and this case are tied into each other?”

Sherlock stood up and nodded for Lestrade to move somewhere more private. After a moment Molly stood up and went with them. “And they’re both connected to a private matter involving my brother and Irene Adler that he has myself, Molly and Mary looking into,” he said quietly.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face. “This just turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions, didn’t it?” he asked with a sigh.

“I imagine it has,” Sherlock said. “I doubt this case will be handled by Scotland Yard much longer.”

Lestrade shut his eyes. “I don’t like this, Sherlock. I don’t like having jurors go missing and turn up dead weeks later in public gardens. I don’t like having shady Americans assassinated in public. Whatever it is that’s going on, try and solve it quickly, all right? Just get it taken care of.”

Sherlock and Molly nodded. “We’ll try our best,” Molly said.

“Good,” Lestrade said before turning and walking back to the body.

Molly moved closer to Sherlock at that point. “We’re into something very big here, aren’t we?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said. “And I want to put a stop to it as quickly as possible.” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket. “Make as many observations on the body as you can, and try and take photographs on your mobile. I’m going to see how involved Mycroft can keep us in this case if the government takes over. We both have a high clearance. We might be kept on.”

Molly nodded and then went back to the body. This was just going to get more complicated before anything got solved, she thought to herself, and she didn’t like that one bit. But she supposed that was her life now, and she’d just have to accept that.


	15. Chapter 15

Surprisingly the government did not take the case away from Lestrade. Molly assumed it was because Sherlock got his brother involved in it, and Mycroft was pulling strings to keep those he trusted on it. Lestrade was made privy to most of the details as to what was going on with Irene Adler and the blackmail front, as well as the theory that she was a middleman working for whoever it was pulling strings as Moriarty. The three of them discussed this off the books, over dinner at Molly’s home. Lestrade went over everything Sherlock had on Irene and the blackmail against Anthea and Janine and the threat against Molly and helped them come up with a few new possibilities but no new concrete leads.

The case of Chelsea Fitzgerald went cold after about a week. Molly had managed to determine that she was killed not long after she left the hotel, but an exact time was hard to pinpoint. A location was impossible; there was no trace evidence on her clothing or body as far as Molly could tell. The only thing she knew was that wherever Chelsea had been frozen at, it had been a walk-in freezer of some sort and she had been laid out on the ground. There was no indication anything was kept in the freezer with her or that she had been killed elsewhere and taken there. With no further clues, there was nothing else they could do.

Sherlock and Molly had decided to suspend the wager while they focused on this case. Other cases were dealt with quickly and efficiently, but each night they went back to this. Molly found her wall being used as a giant case wall, and it was such a familiar sight that she only paid attention to it when she realized Sherlock had made a change to something while she was at St. Bart’s or the rare occasions he would leave the bed while she was asleep at night to work. They would study it, puzzle over it, but nothing was coming to light.

Two weeks after the discovery of Chelsea’s body Molly was just arriving home when her mobile rang. She pulled it out and saw Janine’s number flash. She’d kept Janine apprised of what she knew of the blackmailer without exposing the entire truth as they went to look for Irene, and she had chatted with her occasionally about other things. But normally Molly called Janine. It was rare that Janine called her. She paused in unlocking the door to her flat to answer the call. “Janine? What is it?” Molly asked.

“Another note,” Janine said. “This time at my hotel here in London.”

Molly knew Janine had had plans to be in London to meet with her solicitor for business matters this week, and they were going to meet the following day with Mary in a non professional capacity, as Mary and Janine seemed to have patched things up nicely and Janine wanted to get to know Molly better than she was already doing. She wasn’t sure how many people knew that much. As far as she knew, though, there were very few people who knew specifically which hotel Janine was staying at. “All right. What does the note say?”

“If you get in bed with the wrong people, you get burned. Pay £100,000 to the account listed below by Saturday, or what happened to Chelsea Fitzgerald will be nothing compared to what happens to you.” Janine paused. “Who is Chelsea Fitzgerald?”

 _Damn,_ Molly thought to herself. She balanced her phone between her ear and her shoulder and let herself in. She saw Sherlock in the chair he’d claimed as his own, looking up and about to speak when she shook her head. “I have Sherlock here. We’re going to come to you, all right? Just keep yourself in your room and we’ll be there in a half hour or so. I promise, nothing is going to happen to you, Janine. And I’m going to call Mary, see if she’ll meet us, all right?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly. “Another note?” he asked quietly.

Molly nodded as Janine spoke in her ear. “All right. Thank you, Molly. I appreciate it.”

“It’s fine. Don’t let anyone but us in. Remember, we’ll be there in about a half hour.” She hung up then, slipping her mobile in her handbag, and then looked at Sherlock. “Someone threatened to do to Janine what they did to Chelsea. Janine said it was another note so I’m assuming it’s the same envelope, same paper…”

Sherlock got an angry look on his face. “I’m going to throttle that woman when I get my hands on her.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I don’t want you in jail for the rest of your life.” She watched him stand up and put on his coat. “When we’re done with this let’s get takeaway, all right? I’m starved.”

He nodded. “Where is Janine at?”

“The Savoy,” she replied, taking her mobile back out and dialing Mary’s number as she and Sherlock left her flat. Sherlock locked up with his own keys and then went to hail them a cab as Mary picked up. “She got another note.”

“Which she, Anthea or Janine?” Mary asked.

“Janine,” Molly said. “Death threat this time.”

“I’m going to rip that bloody woman’s head from her shoulders,” Mary said in an angry tone as a cab pulled up and Sherlock and Molly got in.

“Sherlock said he’s going to throttle her so you may have to wait,” Molly said. “We’re on our way to Janine’s hotel room, if you want to join us.”

“I can’t,” Mary said. “Lillian’s got a cold and John’s still at the clinic with a last minute patient. I don’t want to take her out if I can help it. But call me, and put me on speaker. I want to be a part of this conversation.”

“I can do that,” Molly said with a nod. “I’ll call you back when I get to Janine’s room.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Mary said before hanging up.

Molly turned back to Sherlock. “Mary can’t make it, but she wants me to call her and put her on speaker.”

Sherlock nodded. “All right.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m tired of waiting for Irene to contact those that she’s threatening. I want to reach out to her. I’m going to have Lestrade email me the list of incoming calls to Chelsea’s phone and then call Irene’s number. I think it’s time we had a chat.”

“What if she doesn’t answer?” Molly asked.

“Then I’ll leave a message,” he said, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and typing in a text. “I’m fairly sure she’ll want to talk to me. I am, after all, the man she’s obsessing over.” He stowed his phone and then looked at her. “What did the note say, exactly?”

She thought for a moment. “’If you get in bed with the wrong people, you get burned’ was how it started. Then Janine was told to pay £100,000 to an account or what happened to her would be worse than what happened to Chelsea. I think the exact terminology was ‘what happened to Chelsea Fitzgerald will be nothing compared to what happens to you.’ She had no clue who Chelsea was, either.”

“This has more to do with her association with me,” he said, steepling his fingers together. “This has to do with Magnussen as well, I’d imagine. I researched Janine’s entire past before I began my association with her. The only people she could have conceivably gotten in bed with who were the wrong people are Magnussen and myself.”

“Do you think Janine might know something about Chelsea and is hiding it?” Molly asked.

“Perhaps. Or Irene might _think_ Janine knows something about Chelsea because of her association with Magnussen. She may be under the presumption that Janine and Magnussen had a relationship much like she had with her assistant Kate, where there were secrets and pleasures shared.”

She shuddered. “I didn’t need that mental image,” she said.

“Janine told me time and again that she had no sexual or romantic interest in Magnussen. If their relationship was anything it was a power play of sorts,” he said. “Rather like a powerful older brother interested at maintaining his power at all costs keeping his younger sister at his mercy. I imagine Janine had secrets and he knew them and he held them over her, the same as he did everyone else he came into contact with. He wouldn’t have shared any with her.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “He was a dreadful man, wasn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s the only reason why I don’t regret what I did.” He turned to look out the window and she left him to his thoughts for the rest of the cab ride. When the cab arrived at the hotel he paid the driver and they got out. Molly knew which room Janine was staying at already and so they made their way up to it. He knocked on the door softly when they got there. “Janine? It’s Sherlock and Molly.”

The door opened seconds later and Molly could tell that at some point between the call and their arrival Janine had found out who Chelsea Fitzgerald was, as she looked quite frightened. “What is going on?” she asked.

“If you let us in, we’ll explain the whole story,” Sherlock said, his voice a bit more gentle than usual. Janine moved out of the way and the two of them went in. Sherlock nodded over to Molly. “Mary wants to be involved in this conversation via Molly’s mobile.”

Janine nodded, and Molly pulled out her mobile, dialing Mary again. Mary answered after two rings. “Okay, love. I’m ready,” Mary said. “Put me on speaker.”

Molly put the phone on speaker as they moved to the sofa and chairs in the suite, She set it on the table and then began to speak. “A few months back, Mary and I were asked to look into the case of a government official being blackmailed by Irene Adler,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Janine opened her mouth but Sherlock shook his head and she didn’t say anything. “I know everyone thinks Irene is dead but she’s not. She’s very much alive. She stole data off the official’s phone, but we didn’t know at the time why. Now we believe she’s passing the information off to whoever is posing as James Moriarty, to help rebuild his criminal empire.”

“Chelsea Fitzgerald knew Irene, somehow,” Sherlock said. “Her mobile was placed near the body and one of the incoming calls was from a number associated with Irene, placed shortly before Chelsea left the hotel where she was sequestered for the trial of one of the last associates of James Moriarty. There are still things we’re piecing together for this case, but I’m thinking you might be able to help. You didn’t know who Chelsea Fitzgerald was, but did you have any association with Reginald Eisenhart?”

Janine made a face, then got up and went to the minibar in her room. She looked at them, holding up a bottle of wine. Sherlock shook his head but Molly nodded. “Reginald was a top class wanker,” she said before bringing the bottle and two glasses back to where everyone was sitting. “Mary, remember I used to tell you about the bloke who would get touchy-feely during business dinners, before I’d get sent away?”

“Yeah,” Mary said. “It was him?”

“Yeah, it was him,” Janine said. She opened the bottle and poured Molly a glass before handing it to her. “He and Charles would have meetings twice a month, like clockworks. There’d be dinner at an upscale restaurant with the three of us where Reginald would get grabby, and then we’d all go back to Charles’s apartment and the two of them would take the rest of the meeting in private. I got the feeling once or twice that Reginald wanted more from me and Charles was considering it, but thankfully it never happened.” She poured herself a glass of wine then. “I wasn’t privy to much of what they talked about, but now I’m sure Reginald was one of the people Charles used to gather information on other people.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Sherlock said. “I knew about the meetings with Magnussen but I never knew how they played out, and they appeared to have stopped by the time we officially met. I just chalked that up to Reginald not being worth anything at that point, since the web was gone”

“No,” Janine said, shaking her head. “No, he and Charles had had a falling out. Reginald had come in to see him on a day he wasn’t supposed to. I was ushered out of the office and I went to have lunch with a few mates. When I came back in Charles was storming out, saying there were other people who would pay for the information.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment and then looked at Molly. “How much do you want to bet somehow Charles found out Irene was still alive?” she said.

“But how does Chelsea fit into all this?” Mary asked. “Did she have a connection with Magnussen, Janine? Anything you can think of?”

“The name doesn’t sound familiar at all, love. Sorry,” Janine said.

“Then we need to see if she has a connection to Irene, aside from having the phone number,” Sherlock said. “Irene is the linchpin in all of this.” Then he turned to Janine. “Do you feel safe here?”

“Safe enough, I suppose. I mean, if someone really wants to get to me they can, but…”

“If you don’t mind a baby crying in the middle of the night sometimes, you could come stay with John and me,” Mary said. “Between an ex-assassin and an ex-soldier I’m sure we can protect you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Janine said with a smile.

“You knew about her past?” Sherlock asked, slightly surprised.

Janine nodded. “Things come up when a woman has a fight with her boyfriend and she has a wee bit too much wine,” she said with a smile. “Didn’t change my opinion of Mary one bit, though. About the only thing that _did_ was her taking your side in things when we ended our relationship. That smarted.”

“And as I said, neither of you were telling the whole truth at the time, and he _is_ my husband’s platonic soul mate,” Mary said with a slight chuckle on her side of the phone. “I can’t exactly chuck him out of our lives, no matter how much I sometimes want to.”

“It’s nice to know how you really feel about me, Mary,” Sherlock said wryly, though he was grinning.

“Well, back to the original topic, yes, I’ll come over,” Janine said. “Is it all right if I come now?”

“By all means. John should be back in an hour, maybe less. I’ll call him and fill him in before he leaves the clinic, though, so he’s aware of what’s going on. I doubt he’ll mind. I mean, this is similar to what’s going on with Molly, so drastic measures and all.”

“You got a threatening note too?” Janine asked, turning to Molly.

Molly nodded, taking another sip of her wine. “Mine’s strictly about having a relationship with Sherlock, though. Irene’s got an obsession with him and I’m in the way.”

“Well, you be careful too, then,” Janine said. “I know we’re not incredibly close, but you’re a good person. And you make him happy and he needs that. You can see it on his face. It’s a good look for him.” She gave them a grin. “I can make it to Mary’s on my own, I think.”

“No, we’ll take you,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “Just in case. Go ahead and pack your things. We’ll wait.”

“All right,” Janine said as she nodded. She stood up and went into the bedroom.

“I’ve got to get the guest bedroom ready,” Mary said. “I’ll see you both when you drop her off.”

“Bye, Mary,” Molly said, picking up her phone and ending the call. She leaned back in her seat and sipped her wine. “This was an interesting chat.”

“It was,” Sherlock said. “I’m going to talk to Lestrade to see if I can get in to see Reginald and find out if he knows for sure that Irene is alive. But that can keep until morning. He said he was going to email me the list before he went home for the night.” He leaned back in his own seat. “Do you think Mycroft would extend the favor you already called in to get every scrap of information on Chelsea Fitzgerald he can dig up?”

“If he won’t I’ll just use another one,” she said.

“I don’t want you using all of your favors on my case,” he said with a frown.

“ _Our_ case,” she countered. “At this point it’s all so connected that it’s best to just think of it as our case.”

He nodded and then lapsed into silence for a moment. “I like working with you,” he said when he spoke again. “Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy working with John but…there’s something I quite like about working a case with you, too.”

“I like working with you just as much as I like working with Mary,” she said with a smile. “It’s nice.”

“We should collaborate more often,” he said. “When the wager is over.”

“About the wager…” she said. “At this point, we’re both throwing all of it at this case. Unless there’s any heavy movement in the next few days, I doubt we’ll focus on much else. Why don’t we just consider it a draw? We were tied when we put it on hold, so…we’re tied now.”

“But what if there’s still time when this case is over?” he asked. “You may still want to try and beat me.”

“I probably will,” she admitted. “But I just want to get through this first.”

“Let’s think on it a bit,” he said. “See how we feel when we’re done with this case, if we finish it soon. All right?”

“All right,” she said with a nod as his phone beeped for a new email. He pulled his mobile out. “Lestrade?”

He nodded. “He went ahead and just sent the number he knew I wanted,” he said. He studied it for a moment, then keyed it into his phone and dialed it. He put it on speaker and then waited.

“Brainy was the new sexy, once upon a time,” a woman’s voice said after three rings.

“Irene,” Sherlock murmured. 

“Pity it took you so long to realise I had the phone left for you to contact me. Miss Hooper I could have understood the lapse from, but you, Sherlock? I had expected better.” There was a pause in the message. “I change this message every few days, in case you want to talk in person. Considering today’s date and the new note that’s been left, I doubt you’ll want to talk to me alone. Book three tickets for yourself, Miss Hooper and Miss Hawkins on the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express for a week from today to Venice. Your brother can arrange them…he has the connections. I will contact you on the journey at some point between Paris and Venice. Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrons à nouveau, Sherlock.”

The message ended and he looked up. “I suppose I’ll get to fulfill my dream of a train ride on the Orient Express now,” Molly said with a small grin.

“I should have called the number earlier,” he said with a sigh.

“Well, you did now, and that’s what matters. Don’t dwell on her being so…” Molly shook her head. She wanted to punch the woman in the face at the moment, to wipe the smug sound out of her voice. “We have plans to make. Call your brother, have him make the arrangements, and tell him you need every scrap of information on Chelsea Fitzgerald. If he demands I call in a favour then do it.” She stood up. “I’m going to check on Janine.”

Sherlock nodded and picked up his mobile, pulling up a more familiar number. She let him be and then went to the bedroom and knocked on the door. “Come in,” Janine said.

Molly opened the door. “Irene has been contacted. She wants the three of us on the Orient Express in a week.”

Janine shook her head. “I thought…I thought when I sold my story and got out from Charles’s grasp all the games would be done. And now here I am, caught up in another one.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly said, going over to put a hand on her shoulder. “But Sherlock is clever. He’ll figure out a way to get all of us out from under this. You’ll see.”

“We both have quite a bit of faith in him, don’t we?” she said with a small smile.

“We do,” Molly said with a nod.

“Well, I have just as much faith in you and Mary,” Janine said. “You two are brilliant in your own right. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“We won’t.” She looked around. “Do you need any help?”

“I’d love some, thank you,” Janine said. “Could you put my dresses in the garment bags?”

“Of course,” Molly said.

Janine went back to refolding things to put in her luggage. “You and Sherlock…you’re quite close now, aren’t you? I mean, with you dating and all.”

Molly nodded. “Yes, we are.”

“Good. He needs someone who cares about him. I thought, maybe, it could have been me but that wasn’t meant to be. But he does need it. He’s a bit of a man sized little boy.”

Molly smiled at that. “Oh, he can be at times. But other times…other times he seems to just be a normal person. Not this brilliant genius who everyone wants a part of, just someone normal.”

“I didn’t get as much of him being that way. At least genuinely,” Janine said. “But I liked the glimpses I saw.” She paused. “If he doesn’t treat you right, though, I’ll be more than happy to come help you kick his arse. All I got to do was turn down his morphine drip and sell a fake story to the tabloids to make him pay. I’m sure you’d come up with much worse.”

This time Molly laughed. “Oh, I don’t doubt I could. But I hope I don’t have to.”

“I honestly hope you don’t have to either,” Janine said with a smile. They lapsed into silence as they finished packing, and then Sherlock had her luggage taken to a cab while Janine took care of checking out with Molly by her side. Then the three of them got in the cab to Mary and John’s home. John was back by then, and when he and Mary heard what the plan that Sherlock had started to work out with his brother was they wanted in. Sherlock said he would arrange something with Mycroft and then he and Molly left and went back to her home.

Sherlock unlocked the door and went inside, sitting on the sofa under their case wall. Mary and John had fed them at their home so they didn’t need to worry about dinner, but Molly decided a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. She went into the kitchen area to pour herself one. “Do you want anything?” she asked Sherlock.

“Irene Adler locked up in a deep, dark hole somewhere, for a start,” he said, tilting his head back onto the back of the sofa. After a moment Molly forgot about the wine and went back to him, sitting next to him. He tilted his head to the side to look at her. “I’m not looking forward to jumping through her hoops. There is so much that can go wrong.”

“But if what you and Mycroft started working out goes to plan, then we’ll catch her and she can lead us to whoever is pulling the strings as Moriarty,” she said. She reached over for his hand. “In a week, hopefully, all of this will be over.”

“Just the case, you mean,” he said, playing with her fingers slightly. “Because I don’t want a week to go by and our relationship to be over too.”

“No, I just meant the case,” she said. “I love you too much to do something silly like end our relationship just because of this case.” He stared at her with wide eyes for a moment and she blinked. “What?”

“You love me?” he asked quietly.

“I…” She started to speak, and then just nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

He grinned at her and lifted his head up, pulling her closer to him. “I’m glad, because I realised recently that I am in love with you too.”

A wide smile formed on her face. “Really?” she asked.

“Yes, really,” he said, finally settling her on his lap. “I think it was the day you got the threat. I knew that I’d be bereft if anything happened to you. I mean, I would be very upset if something happened to anyone else I cared about, but if something happened to _you_ , I wasn’t sure I’d want to go on. And that had to mean something. And I realized that meant I was in love with you.”

She framed his face in her hands. “Oh, that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever told me. I do love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, Molly,” he said before kissing her softly. They did that for a few moments before he shifted his position, putting his arms under her and standing up. She moved slightly to make it easier for him to carry her, and then she went back to kissing him as he carried her into her bedroom. She knew that what happened next was going to signify a change in their relationship, and she was quite ready and very eager for that change. This man whom she adored loved her, and despite all the turmoil going on that meant more to her than anything else in the world right now.


	16. Chapter 16

Mycroft managed to get quite a bit done in a week’s time, Molly noted. She knew that at least a quarter of the passengers on the train and some of the staff were from various government agencies. Mycroft and Sherlock had looked at the list of reservations and figured out their best guess as to which of them was Irene’s, and so the Cabin Suite booked for Sherlock, Molly and Janine was booked in the same car and the rest of the cabins were filled with agents from MI-5 and MI-6. Mary and John were nearby, Mrs. Hudson having agreed to watch Lillian for them for the few days this operation would be taking place, and Molly was fairly sure Anthea and Mycroft themselves would be on board as well.

She grew more nervous the closer the day got. It was one thing to have a threat sent to her on paper; it was quite another to be face to face with the person who had issued the threat. Sherlock and Molly made their way to the train station to meet Janine and when it came time to board the train they went on and made their way to their cabin. It was quite luxurious, living up to the idea Molly had had in her head of the Orient Express ever since reading the Agatha Christie novel set on it. She saw that she would not be able to share a bed with Sherlock, which would be unusual since she was so used to it, but he put his bag on the berth above hers and then sat on her bed. “You’re nervous,” he said.

She nodded. “We have no idea what her plans are. She set this all up, despite Mycroft trying to get us the upper hand. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

He reached over and grasped her hand. “I’ll keep you safe, Molly. I swear I will.”

“I know.” She let go of his hand and framed his face before leaning over and kissing him softly. He pulled her closer to him and the kiss deepened. This had happened quite a bit in the last week, since they’d taken their relationship a step further. It seemed almost any time they kissed it was more intense, more passionate, and she loved it even when it was inconvenient to take their clothes off and have a good shag. When they finally pulled apart she rested her forehead against his. “It’s going to be strange not sleeping next to you.”

“Well, when we get back to London you can sleep next to me as often as you want,” he said. “Either at your flat or at Baker Street.”

“I was rather hoping you’d want to stay with me,” she said.

“I’m considering it,” he replied and she pulled away, looking at him in surprise. “Baker Street is my home, though, and I’m not sure I’m ready to leave it quite yet. But I wouldn’t mind spending most nights at your flat. It’s becoming home too.”

“I’m glad,” she said with a wide smile, leaning over and embracing him. He held her close for a long while. When they pulled apart again she got off the bed. “I’m starved. Are you?”

“Not starved, but I could accompany you to a dining car,” he said, standing up as well. Molly smoothed down her dress and then made her way out of the cabin with Sherlock right behind. Janine had said she was going to spend time with John and Mary until it was time to sleep for the night, since Irene had said she would not contact them until after Paris. The Côte d’Azur car was the closest to them and they made their way there, sitting at one of the tables. Molly began studying the faintly blue opaque glass that showed classical figures before moving her gaze to the matching frieze of smaller panels. “This is quite elegant,” Sherlock remarked.

She nodded. “I just wish I got to experience it for other reasons,” she said. “I’m worried that I’m never going to want to do this again because it will all go to hell.”

“Do you want to travel?” he asked, picking up his menu.

She nodded. “I enjoy London, but there’s so much more to see. And I have extra money, from consulting. I’d like to travel a bit more, expand my horizons. See some more of the world before I’m too old to enjoy it.”

“And would you like company?” he asked, just a bit hesitantly.

“As long as my company is a tall man with dark, curly hair and mesmerizing eyes and a very deep voice,” she said with a smile as she picked up her own menu.

“I’ll have to see who I can find for you,” he said, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a grin. She grinned herself and shook her head but said nothing, studying the menu. After a few moments he paused. “We might have company joining us. Don’t turn around, but Irene has entered the car.”

Molly nodded just slightly, and then waited. She saw Irene walk by to a table past them. She took a moment to study the infamous Woman. The clothing she had on was definitely expensive. The dress she had on looked vintage, black floral lace over a nude strapless dress with the lace covering her chest all the way up to the collarbone. She had on a diamond bracelet, discreet diamond earrings and carried a handbag that was clearly designer. She had her hair up in a chignon but it didn’t appear dark brown like the woman whose autopsy she had done, instead being a warm auburn shade now. When she turned to the side Molly could see her face looked quite striking and she had on bright red lipstick. “Are you sure it’s her?” she asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded slowly. “I’m quite sure,” he said. “Keep an eye on her movements. If she’s settled I doubt she’ll pay us a visit but one can never tell.”

“All right,” Molly said. This took the fun out of her meal, she supposed, and she spent more time concentrating on Irene than on enjoying her food. They finished their meal and lingered as Molly finished the glass of wine she’d ordered, though really, she could barely taste it. When they had no further reason to stay they made their way back to the cabin, avoiding Irene. She made no move to stop them or follow them. When they got back to their cabin Molly laid down on the bed and Sherlock sat by her waist. “That was a waste of a good meal. I barely enjoyed a bite.”

He reached over for her hand. “When this is over, if you want, we can go somewhere. Anywhere you want in the world. You can make all the plans and I’ll do anything you want to do.”

“Anything I want to do, anywhere I want to go?” she asked with a grin. “I like the sound of that. But why?”

“I think with everything that’s happened we both deserve a holiday,” he said. “John and Mary can have one later but I would like to have one with you.”

“Mmm,” she said, motioning for him to lean in more. “I’m thinking someplace warm, with beaches. Someplace we don’t have to wear a lot of clothing. Someplace tropical and exotic.”

“And would it be all right if there were a day or two where we didn’t wear any clothing at all?” he asked, changing his position and leaning in more.

“As long as we were inside our hotel room having our wicked ways with each other,” she said with a grin as she pulled him in for a kiss. It was a bit awkward for the two of them to be in the berth at the same time but after a moment they found a position that was comfortable and he managed the deepen the kiss. She tangled her fingers in his hair and was about to suggest that they see just what they could do in the small space they had when the door to Janine’s cabin opened. He stilled and she did as well. “Do you think Janine is back?”

He shook his head. “She said if she came into the cabin she’d say something just in case we were being a bit grabby with each other,” he murmured. He pulled away from Molly and then leaned down to reach his ankle as the cabin door opened and Irene stood there, gun in her hand. “Irene.”

“Pity it had to come to this, Sherlock,” she said. “Get the gun out and then toss it to the other side of the cabin.” Sherlock did as he was told, getting the gun out of his ankle holster and then tossing it to his side. “I’d hoped to find Janine here to take care of that problem first, but I don’t know where she’s off to. Oh well. I’ll just deal with her later.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Sherlock said as Molly slowly sat up. “Magnussen told her nothing.”

Irene scoffed. “I bet that’s what she told you. But even blackmailers tell someone some of their secrets, and who better than a personal assistant? Kate knows _my_ secrets.”

“Knows?” Molly asked.

Irene gave her a strange look. “Do you think I kill everybody who knows I’m alive? No, just the ones who try to make a profit off of it. Kate’s alive and well in Belgium, doing nicely for herself as a dominatrix. I taught her well over the years.”

“So that’s why Chelsea Fitzgerald had to die,” Sherlock said.

“Yes,” Irene said with a nod. “It’s not all that complicated, if you knew where to look. Chelsea’s long term lover was an associate of Reginald Eisenhart’s. Chelsea sometimes fulfilled a certain set of needs that Reginald had, a very elaborate set of fantasies involving desks and riding crops and a bit of ‘call me ma’am,’ if you catch my meaning. It was all engineered that Chelsea was a juror on Reginald’s trial to vote against him being convicted. But Reginald had found out my secret and he’d told Chelsea. He wanted money when he was free and he thought I should give it to him.” She moved to the side slightly to lean against the wall. “I, of course, thought otherwise.”

“Why the note to Janine, though?”

“I had a chat with Chelsea before I shot her. She said Reginald had told Charles Magnussen that he had a secret involving me. It wouldn’t take much for Charles to figure out the only secret worth having was that I was alive. I did some research into Janine Hawkins, which admittedly I should have done when she paraded herself as your former lover, Sherlock…” Irene trailed off. “She’s not _really_ your ex-lover, is she?”

“Does it matter?” Sherlock said. “Even if she wasn’t I still would have publicly claimed she was.”

“Sentiment,” Irene said, shaking her head. “You used to not have that. Funny how things have changed.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, I did my research and discovered she was Charles’s assistant, so she would know my secret. And if she was willing to sell a sex story to the tabloids it was conceiveable that she’d be willing to blackmail if needed. I decided to beat her to the punch.”

“No, that isn’t blackmail,” Sherlock said, glaring at Irene. “What you did was send her a death threat and try to extort money out of her to keep herself alive. She wouldn’t have blackmailed you, if she had known before we told her.”

Irene shrugged. “Well, if she hadn’t paid I should have known you’d swoop in to protect her. Saint Sherlock, the man who protests not to care but cares too much. Jim had often said that about you.” She gestured with her gun. “Too bad he isn’t alive to see what I’ve accomplished.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “You’re Moriarty. I mean, you’re the one pretending to be Moriarty.”

“I am,” Irene said. “I used the information I got from cloning Andrea’s…” She paused. “ _Anthea’s_ phone to rebuild the empire, evade your brother and all his attempts to shut me down. It’s been quite handy. And then I decided to sabotage that agreement of his by leaking the information to get back at dear old Mycroft for trying to send you away to your death, Sherlock. Russia was going to be a one way trip, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.

“So he deserved it. And he deserved much more, what with all the other little surprises I had planned for him. Unfortunately I’ll have to scuttle those, because now I have to take care of you.” She moved closer to Sherlock. “I’ll make you a deal, Sherlock. Come away with me. Be by my side and help me rule this new organization and I’ll spare this tart and your friends and even Miss Hawkins. I could make you deliriously happy.”

“I’d rather rot in Hell,” he said, tilting his chin up slightly.

Irene’s eyes got cold, and she swung the gun towards Molly. “Well, then I’ll start by killing _her_ , and then I’ll go after Janine, and I’ll make you regret ever crossing my path,” Irene said coldly. Sherlock moved into the line of fire as the adjoining door opened again and then suddenly Irene was down. 

Standing behind her was Janine with a vase in her hand and Mary and John behind her. “Mycroft called, said she’d come in and asked if we could take care of it,” Mary said. “I thought it might be nice to let Janine take a swing at her.”

“I believe a few of you wished to throttle the bitch?” Janine said with a grin as she looked down at Irene’s limp form.

“I’d much rather have her carted off and never have to see her again,” Molly said as Sherlock turned and pulled her into an embrace. She clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he stroked her hair back. “She could have shot you,” she murmured into his neck.

“It would have kept you safe,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment. “I heard the Bahamas are nice this time of year.”

“I’ll take you there as soon as I can,” he said before more people entered the cabin. She looked up and saw Mycroft and two government agents there. “Taking her away for a chat?”

“A very long chat,” Mycroft said as Irene groaned when the agents picked her up off the ground. “We got everything on tape. I doubt the world will be seeing her again.”

“Good,” Molly said. Janine, Mary and John gave her and Sherlock a knowing glance and then backed out of Sherlock and Molly's cabin towards Janine’s cabin, shutting the door behind them. Mycroft stood there for a moment. “So it’s all settled?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. I believe the case has been solved to our satisfaction. Expect payment shortly.” He turned and then paused at the door. “Bora Bora is also nice this time of the year, I’ve been told.”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock said.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Turn off the surveillance equipment in this cabin _immediately_ ,” he said, giving his brother a long look.

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “Give me five minutes,” he said before exiting.

Molly shook her head. “We were going to shag earlier and it was going to be taped?” she hissed.

“I didn’t realize it was more than audio equipment,” he said. “I was going to entice you to be very quiet.”

“Oh,” she said. She embraced him again. “I’m just glad this is all over now.”

“I am too,” he said, holding her close. “Now we can go back to the wager.”

“After our holiday, of course,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied. He pulled away after a moment and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s make the most of the rest of this trip, all right? I think I’d enjoy some time with you in Paris.”

“Are you saying we get off the train in Paris and then not get back on?” she asked.

“That could be a distinct possibility,” he said. “And then we could fly somewhere tropical from there. I’m sure Mycroft can arrange for you to have extended time off without you having to go home.”

“I like that idea a lot,” she said with a smile. “Just you and I and time away from cases and London. It sounds perfect.”

“Yes, it does,” he said quietly before leaning in to kiss her again. She smiled as she kissed him back, not caring at the moment if the surveillance equipment was turned off just yet. The whole thing was over and she could start a new chapter of her life with this wonderful man that she loved and adored so much, and all that was ahead of them was possibilities. It was absolutely glorious.


	17. Chapter 17

Eventually they returned from their holiday, which had been three days and two nights in Paris while arrangements were made and then a week at the Bora Bora Pearl Beach Resort & Spa resort in Bora Bora, which was covered completely by Mycroft personally. They hadn’t had to spend a dime of their own money and Mycroft hadn’t even said it was a favour. She was quite thankful for that, as it was nice to relax and enjoy time with Sherlock without having to worry about a threat against her. When they returned to London he still spent most nights at her flat, at least four a week, though she did stay at Baker Street occasionally as well. It was a nice arrangement, she supposed, but it didn’t seem quite right. 

Soon the six months for the wager was over and it was declared a draw. Lestrade suggested that they should have their expensive meal together but with separate bills and that they should each cover the other's meal. She knew Sherlock still had his ego, despite the changes in his personality over the last few months and his overall fondness towards her, and while they had kept things very friendly it had still been a competition and he hadn't exactly won. He could still be a sore loser, and so she was prepared to pick up the tab for Sherlock's half of the meal, even if it ended up costing her a pretty penny. That didn't mean she couldn't try and distract him by looking spectacular, though after she'd gone through every scrap of clothing she'd owned she realized nothing she owned made her feel elegant enough to be seen at an expensive restaurant. With that thought in her head she turned to her friends for help.

Mary and Janine had quickly declared that they would take care of that problem, and the two women whisked Molly off to some of the higher end stores for a shopping spree. Mary had been careful to select things that were classy yet inexpensive until Janine said price _really_ didn't matter if it meant there was a chance they were going to make the great Sherlock Holmes speechless. Molly protested that she really couldn't afford something hideously expensive until Janine assured her she'd pay for it, as well as a complete makeover. Before Molly could ask why, Janine had simply said that Sherlock could be an absolute oaf sometimes but she wanted him to be happy, and Molly made him happy, and if she could help give them one brilliant date it might start to make up for her part in the mess with Irene Adler. Molly had given her a hug and said really, she didn't have to, but if she wanted to it was fine. Truthfully she was rather glad Janine had gotten mixed up in everything, because if she hadn't Sherlock may never have admitted he felt anything more towards her than friendship, and Molly wouldn't have been as happy as she was, Irene drama aside. On top of it she'd gotten a good friend out of Janine and she could always do with more of those.

The shopping trip and the makeover that followed left Molly looking quite different. She'd decided to make a few rather drastic changes to her appearance, things suggested by the stylist and encouraged by Mary and Janine. She was quite pleased with the end result, she thought as she gave herself one last look in the mirror before she left her home for the end of the wager dinner date. She'd cut her hair to something between her chin and her shoulders, and it was now a vibrant red, a color she'd always wanted to try but had never dared because it was such a striking difference. There was a treatment she could do every few months that would keep it straight without damaging her hair, and since she liked the result of it this time she decided she was going to keep it up. She'd gotten some lessons in how to better apply her make-up, and color combinations that worked well with the outfit they'd shown the make-up artist that she was going to wear tonight. She ended up buying a small fortune worth of new make-up for every day and evening use, but she'd gotten many more compliments on how lovely she looked today with the day wear look and new hair style and color so she felt it was all worth it.

As it stood now, though, she'd updated her look for the evening since she was about to leave for the dinner date. She smoothed down the front of the dress and took one last look at herself in the mirror. After much discussion it was decided the best idea would be the cocktail look, something semi-formal so that it wasn't black tie but it wasn't casual, either. Her sheath dress was a vibrant emerald green shade, better to compliment the change in hair color, hugging her body in all the right places. It was silky and would have been considered strapless if the entire upper chest area as well as the waist and skirt hadn't been covered in a beautiful patterned lace, with the lace and bodice combining to give just a hint of cleavage. Molly had some woven silver bangle bracelets that her friends had said would pair perfectly, and Mary had splurged on Molly's behalf and bought a gorgeous pair of silver chandelier earrings with emerald-like stones dangling on them. Janine had found a pair of strappy heels in a matching shade of green that gave Molly a few extra inches but were incredibly comfortable, and it was all topped off by an emerald green clutch with a fake emerald clasp. After some consideration everyone had agreed that, for the night, Molly should wear her hair down and stick straight for a more dramatic look. She took one last look at herself and swore that if Sherlock didn't have a moment of speechlessness she'd declare he was the biggest idiot in the world, call off the dinner and then ring up Mary and Janine and have them meet her for a night on the town away from their significant others.

She stepped outside of her home and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear as she locked up behind her. It wasn't until she turned around and looked up that she saw there was a black sedan there with a man standing by the rear door. When he saw that she had seen him he opened the door and for a moment she was terrified that it was Mycroft and that he was going to kidnap her and ruin her entire evening and she was going to have to murder him and ruin the dress while she was dissolving his body in acid, but she relaxed when she saw that it was Sherlock who got out of the car. He stood and took in the sight of her, and his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped slightly, though he recovered quickly. He had been banned from St. Bart's all day so the effect of seeing her gussied up wasn't ruined, and she had to admit it had been worth it. After a moment he recovered and moved forward, and she saw he had a flower in his hand. She stepped closer to him and he handed her the flower. It was a very dark red rose, so dark it was nearly black. She lifted it up to smell it and gave him a look. “I know you like unusual flowers, and it isn't quite an all black rose, but I thought you would appreciate it. It's a black baccara rose, to be precise.”

“It's beautiful,” she said, giving him a warm smile. “And it smells lovely, too.”

“I almost considered bringing a black calla lily, but I thought I might save that for if we had a date on Halloween,” he said.

“I never should have told you about my appreciation for black flowers,” she said with a soft laugh. “I think you're going to tear London apart to find all sorts of varieties to give me for gifts.”

“Perhaps only during the month of October,” he said. “They should be easier to find then.”

“Then I can't wait to see what happens then,” she said.

“I should have told you by now that you look absolutely stunning,” he said. “I definitely approve of you as a bold ginger.”

“Really?” she said, her smile growing wider. “I've always wanted to try it, but it was just such a drastic change. I never took the risk until now.”

“You seem to have taken quite a few risks this year,” he said. “And they all seem to have paid off handsomely.”

“Most of them have, at any rate,” she said. Then she stepped closer to him. “The risk I took on you is certainly the one I'm happiest about, though.”

“I'm glad you took that risk as well,” he said, reaching up to caress her face gently, though he was careful not to smudge any of her make-up. She shut her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his fingers on her skin. She got such an electric thrill through her when they touched. She hoped that never went away. After a moment she felt his lips press softly against hers, and so she kissed him back, heedless of the fact they had an audience. After what felt like far too short of a time he pulled away. “If we get carried away we'll miss our reservation.”

She nodded and took a step back. They had looked at listings of the most expensive restaurants in London, looking at the types of food served and the menus if they were available, and after some consideration they had settled on Sketch. Sherlock said he would take care of setting up their reservation, but she hadn't realized he was going to cover transportation as well, she thought as he got into the car and she followed. 

When they were settled the driver shut the door behind them. There was a partition between them and the driver, and she could see there was a ice bucket on the seat with a bottle of champagne in it and two champagne flutes nearby. She raised an eyebrow at that. “Sherlock, this is supposed to be split down the middle, the cost of this meal. If you're covering transportation and champagne I'll have to spend more on your meal.”

“Actually, neither of us will be spending any money tonight on the outcome of our wager,” he said. “Apparently our friends banded together and decided that since we had the potential to bankrupt each other temporarily to balm wounded egos they would cover the meal, the transportation to and from the restaurant, and this.” He gestured to the champagne. “I believe if we spend anything over a thousand pounds on our dinner then it's on us to cover the difference.”

Molly's eyes went wide for a moment. “And I'm assuming some of our friends contributed more than others?” she said.

He shook his head. “As far as I know it was split evenly seven ways between Mary, John, Lestrade, Janine, Mrs. Hudson, Anthea and my brother,” he said. 

“That's still quite a bit of money to donate to something that didn't even affect any of them in the first place,” she said, shaking her head.

“If it wasn't for the wager I may have let my hunt for Moriarty consume me until I pushed everyone away and became worse than I was before John,” he said quietly. “Irene did a very good job of convincing everyone Moriarty was alive and moving around faster than he could be caught. I believe she would have done it indefinitely if it would have kept me from going on the suicide mission to Russia.”

Molly was quiet for a moment, then looked down at the rose in her hands. “Are you still going to have to do that?” she asked softly, worried that she might get an affirmative answer.

“No,” he said, reaching over to put a hand over hers. “The opportunity to take care of the matter passed already, and it seems to have sorted itself out. The general consensus is that I've done enough good to pay for my sin of killing Magnussen by stopping Irene from rebuilding Moriarty's network, but I am to be at the beck and call of her Majesty's government if my skills are needed. No one way trips, however. I do not have to pay _that_ penance.”

She relaxed. “Good. That's wonderful. That's all I could have hoped for with that situation.”

“I will do my best not to leave you again,” he said, taking something out of his pocket. She looked down and her eyes widened as she saw it was a ring box He opened it and she saw a diamond ring flanked by sapphires. It was such a beautiful ring that she gasped. “I know you deserve someone who loves you wholeheartedly, who doesn’t want you to change,” he said, slipping it onto her ring finger. “You are the only woman I love, Molly Hooper. You are the only woman who has captured my heart, and I think you've had it for quite a long time now. I would love to have you in my life for the rest of it, if you’ll have me.”

She felt her heart lift, as though it was on wings, and then she moved forward, letting their faces be inches apart. “Oh yes. I will, of course I will.” She reached up and caressed his cheek. “I love you too, Sherlock Holmes. I've loved you even when I shouldn't have, and I don't think I'll ever stop.”

“I sincerely hope you won't,” he murmured before he kissed her. She forgot about everything except burning this moment in her memory, the moment when she was the happiest she had ever been. She wanted to remember the day he asked to spend the rest of his life with her until the day she died, because it was truly the best day of her life.


End file.
